Twilight of the Dawn
by Dreamwraith
Summary: Piccolo refused his sire’s legacy, but Daimao won’t take “no” for an answer. When the demon’s hand is revealed, he must make a choice. Can Piccolo give up what he has become and go back to the monster he once was to save the planet he calls home?
1. Chapter One

Woo-hah. I kept my promise…here's the sequel.

For the first time in ages, it seems, I'm actually going to write something for no reason other than to just _write_. It feels wonderful. This story is original, and if you've read its predecessor you'll know why. Reviews and constructive criticism are welcomed, and flames will be tolerated so long as they are not vulgar or degrading.

"From The Past", the first tale, takes over the timeline after the Frieza Saga, so virtually everything that occurs after that in the canon anime has been sacked and will not be mentioned. This story follows in its footsteps. Rating is for violence and language.

**Disclaimer:** Toriyama owns the DB characters. I own my originals and this story. I make no money off of this. Fair enough?

* * *

**"Twilight of the Dawn"**

**By: Dreamwraith**

**Prologue**

_"The past is but the beginning of a beginning, and all that is and has been is but the twilight of the dawn."_ - H.G. Wells

All stories have an ending.

But not all books are closed.

As Piccolo Daimao's life faded away, he created one last progeny, giving him the order to destroy the one who killed him…Son Goku. Ma Junior, called Piccolo, was to be the tool that brought the Earth to its knees. But after witnessing Goku's heroic sacrifice, by his own hand, the young demon began to change. And when the moment of truth came, he threw himself in the path of an enormous ball of _ki_, saving the son of his nemesis. His selfless act cost him his life. He was wished back to life and sent to the planet Namek by the Namekian Dragonballs, and he fought against the dreaded Frieza for a time. Ultimately it became Son Goku's battle, and he, Krillin and Gohan, and the people of Namek were wished to Earth. When Namek exploded, Son Goku was thought to be lost.

But when Porunga, the Namekian dragon, was asked to bring the man to the check-in station of the Afterlife, the wish was refused on the grounds that he was not dead and would be killed with that action. When a wish was made to return Goku to Earth, it was also refused, with the explanation given that moving him from wherever he was would also kill him. So when all wishing was done more than half a year later, the Saiyan's friends set out to find him, and to discover what could be done to bring their wandering companion home.

It was then that disaster struck. For it seemed that both Goku and Piccolo had made some powerful enemies. As infants, they were given charges that were expected to be completed. Son Goku, once named Kakarot, was to rid the Earth of all life as a Saiyan planet purger. Piccolo was to kill Goku and make ready the way for his deceased sire's realm, creating Hell-On-Earth and inviting every demon of the Underworld to this new dominion. Neither one fulfilled his mission, and the beings who sent them decided that enough was enough. If the 'child' would not do as he was told, he would be punished. Piccolo and the Earthling warriors learned this firsthand while seeking out the reason for Goku's delayed return home, when a creature from another realm lashed out at them through Uranai Baba's crystal ball. With the help of King Kai, the god of the Northern Quadrant, Goku's friends were able to direct him home just before both his and Piccolo's new nemeses launched their own offensives.

For Goku, two genetically engineered Saiyan hybrids were sent with the instructions to kill him and finish his job for him. The powerful brothers, Kadrin and Morodath, proved to be worthy adversaries that very nearly overwhelmed both Goku and Piccolo upon their arrival. It was only with a stroke of luck and a desperate gamble that the two warriors were able to defeat them. Piccolo was left severely weakened from the ordeal, and it was during the aftermath of the battle that his superior revealed his hand. Piccolo Daimao, Lord of Demons, commanded a demon known as the Seer to aid him in his effort to revert his youngest son back into the monster he once was. It was this Seer that corrupted Baba's scrying ball, and it was this creature's protégé that was sent to Earth. Shadow, as he was called, was able to trap Piccolo within his own mind, and only after facing off against Goku, Gohan, Vegeta, and the human warriors was the demon expelled and destroyed.

Goku no longer had a past that could return for him. But Piccolo knew beyond a doubt that his sire would not stop until he was either dead or under his control. He could not sit by idly and await the demon lord's next move. So while the warriors recovered and repaired the damage from the prolonged battle, the Namek kept a careful eye on his environment, pushing himself to his new limits. After all, who knew when Daimao would choose to strike, and who or what his next target would be? The Saiyans would all be training and strengthening themselves in preparation for such an event, and so would he.

Piccolo knew the signs, and he would make certain that he and the others would not be caught off-guard again.

* * *

**Chapter One**

It was still dark out when Goku pried his eyes open, blearily staring at the ceiling. At least three birds were chirping away merrily in the trees in his yard, so it wasn't the middle of the night. Early morning? Likely. Or had he slept through the day and missed dinner, making it some time around dusk? Not likely. The Saiyan blinked slowly and rubbed his eyes with his fists. What kind of a dream was this, that he was awake at some unseemly hour? He yawned, and his first conscious thought of the day smacked him in the face.

_COLD!_

Goku whipped the covers back over his head and snuggled down into the bedding. A gasp escaped his lips…what was he thinking? He couldn't go out in _that_! The predawn air was freezing against his bare arms, and Goku had to clamp his jaw shut to keep his teeth from chattering. He was awake _now_, at least, but what time was it? It couldn't be much later than five, but he wouldn't know until he walked into the kitchen and checked. And with the way he was moving, a snail would beat him there. Kami, it was so cold out! How on Earth could Piccolo stand living out in this kind of weather?

_He'd yell at me for going soft, if I complained about his idea of a decent starting time,_ Goku thought wryly. He leaned across his sleeping wife and peered out the window at the deep blue sky. _And he's probably already warmed up and waiting for me._ He rolled his eyes in mock frustration. _Why couldn't we have started _after _dawn?_ Well, it could be worse. It could be raining, or stifling hot, or humid. Not that it would stop Piccolo if it was…he'd known the Namek to train in bizarre weather conditions before, sometimes even being the cause of them.

Goku sighed and reluctantly sat up. He released his grip on the warm comforter even more grudgingly.

_Well, that's Piccolo for you._

The Saiyan rolled out of bed as quietly as he could and tried not to let his feet touch the bare wooden floor. He dressed quickly and with as little motion as possible. He did not want to wake Chi-Chi, because she would whip her frying pan out of Kami-knows-where and knock him senseless, and he didn't want to freeze himself to the floor. Or to the side of the bed. Weighted boots, wristlets, and shirt all found themselves on in record time, followed by an orange gi bright enough to be obnoxious. For good measure, he snatched a spare blanket from the closet and wrapped it around his shoulders in imitation of Piccolo's cape. All things considered, it was nothing short of miraculous that Goku was able to make his way into the kitchen without rousing either his wife or his son.

The clock on the wall read 4:47.

Kami, was it early! He would certainly have a few words to share with the Namek about _that_. Some people actually adhered to a regular sleep pattern, unlike one particular green alien. Come to think of it, he'd never caught Piccolo napping before. Their time spent recuperating at Master Roshi's did not count.

"And I don't even have time to eat breakfast," Goku complained softly, wistfully eying the refrigerator. His stomach protested loudly just thinking about the missed meal. Then he shrugged, snatched an apple off the counter on his way out the door and popped it in his mouth, core, stem, leaves, and all.

The air was even more brisk than he had been led to believe. The instant he was out of earshot of his house he squealed and began furiously rubbing his arms and stamping his feet. "C-c-c-cold!" he yelped, dancing around as if someone had dropped ice down the back of his shirt.

He made it into the air and still managed to hop about a bit before taking off for the clearing in which the hybrid brothers had landed only ten weeks earlier. Between Piccolo and himself they had been able to defeat and slay the murderous duo. The Namek had even single-handedly held one hybrid off for hours while Goku lay unconscious. Kadrin and Morodath had been worthy opponents, despite their thirst for bloodshed and the overwhelming power that gave them an immediate advantage.

The Saiyan bit back a yawn and stuck his icy fingers inside his shirt. "It's too early for this," he grumbled. "I'll have to sue for cruel and unusual punishment."

By the time the deep blue of the horizon had faded into a light teal, Goku had touched down lightly on the ground, the bare soil beneath his feet still bearing the scars of that colossal battle. There were scraps of metal to his left, where the melted remains of the spacecraft lay. A large swath of charred earth marked Kadrin's final stand against the awesome power Piccolo had somehow channeled through his own _ki_ attack, his _Makkankosappo._ The shattered screen from one of their two Scouters was visible among the rubble, reflecting the faint light in the sky. The smooth metal of Kadrin's sword glinted in that same light, though it was already half-buried in the soil.

_What memories this place brings back,_ Goku mused. Then he frowned. This was the place their troubles had started in earnest. This was the beginning of his struggle to keep Piccolo from being buried alive, in a manner of speaking.

"Not all pleasant, are they?" came a low voice from behind him.

Goku shook his head without flinching. It didn't surprise him that Piccolo had read his thoughts. He had suspected Piccolo was somewhere nearby; if the Namek hadn't been able to find him, he would have used his _ki_ as a beacon for him. That, and Piccolo had the habit of appearing at the most opportune moments. "It's hard to believe all this happened just a few weeks ago," the Saiyan said with a sigh. "I still wake up, sometimes, thinking I have to find you and tell you _something_. I can't remember what." He chuckled quietly. "I even thought I saw Daimao perched at the foot of my bed. Chi-Chi woke up and found me ripping apart one of our pillows."

Piccolo snorted. "I would think that Gohan, of all people, would be having nightmares like that. Not you."

Goku turned his head so he could look the Namek in the eyes when he shrugged. "He seems to be taking this whole thing rather well. I'm kinda shocked myself. Then again, he's also had the strictest training regimen on the planet, so we can't say for certain that he's fine. He could be hiding it all."

The Namek caught the meaning behind the words and scowled. "If he was holding it in, he would have been a Super Saiyan already. He would have exploded during our last spar."

"You shouldn't have tried to tear his face off."

Piccolo glared the other man down. "I did no such thing. I was defending myself."

Goku shivered and wrapped himself more tightly in the blanket.

"You," he continued, "should have known better than to cry 'demon' so soon after that fiasco."

The Saiyan's eyes widened innocently. "I didn't think he would start flinging _ki_ balls around!"

Piccolo rolled his eyes and sighed. "He's still a child, Goku. He would have been seeing monsters in every dark corner even if this whole mess had never occurred. To him, it was only logical to rid the landscape of every possible hiding place."

"I didn't know that you constituted a hiding place."

Not for the first time, Piccolo wondered what on Earth had made him change his mind about killing Goku. "I constitute a demon. So the next time you decide to try to make him ascend, think about the trigger you've picked. I do not care to repeat that experience."

After a moment of uncomfortable silence, Goku nodded and began to warm up.

* * *

I'd bother you to leave a review, but I'm falling asleep in my chair at the moment. So hopefully you leave comments and feedback, but if not…well, there's nothing I can do about that, now is there?

Thanks for reading!

-Dreamwraith


	2. Chapter Two

Note to self: I'm not liking this 'no indent' format very much.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own DBZ or any of its characters. I lay claim only to this story and any original characters and places it contains.

* * *

**Chapter Two**

Goku blurred his _ki_ into the sparse vegetation around him and forced himself to remain motionless. With any luck, his Namekian sparring partner would not be able to pinpoint his location, and when he was sufficiently distracted he would attack. He was quite proud of himself, and the more he thought about a pending victory the more excited he grew, until he found it necessary to think about his wife's lethal frying pan to keep from fidgeting.

_Eh, it's high time I came up with a new technique anyway. All the better for me if I can't be found!_ He could not keep the laughter from his voice when he had run the idea by Krillin. The monk had scratched the back of his head and said it was a good idea. _He had no idea how good it was!_ Goku grinned despite himself, standing behind Piccolo even now, undetected.

This new technique had no name, nor had it been perfected. He had only worked through it in theory, not in practice – a situation he expected would be remedied soon. What Goku hoped to accomplish was a new way of hiding one's _ki_; rather than suppressing it and making it nigh impossible to fly or do anything even remotely involving _ki_, he would be able to spread it out over a large area and blend into the environment. Even if his opponent managed to locate his _ki_ among the local fauna, he or she would be hard-pressed to pinpoint his exact position. He would have a decisive tactical advantage.

At least that was the desired result. He frowned and craned his neck forward, wondering what on Earth the other man found more important than their spar.

Piccolo stood perfectly still near the center of the clearing. His eyes were closed, his chest barely rising with each breath. If Goku hadn't known any better, he might have accused the Namek of falling asleep while standing. He had caught Vegeta doing it a few times, and even Yamcha and Tien once in a while. They spent so much of their time either training or – in Yamcha's case – working that they were forced to use any bit of spare time they had to sleep. To them, it was normal behavior.

Piccolo's current behavior was anything but. He was up to something.

The Saiyan felt a tendril of the other warrior's _ki_ brush his own, and he winced. Blast it all, he'd been found! He'd ponder the how later…for now, he needed to move before he found himself on the receiving end of a _Makkankosappo_ or other unpleasant surprise. He quick-stepped across the barren field and cursed himself. He'd have to think fast if he was to hide from Piccolo's 'sight' once more. He _knew_ the Namek's senses had become that much more refined since his ordeal with that demon, as if the creature had awakened something in him that he now put to good use. It was possible.

No, more than possible.

It was likely.

Before his mind had been host to the malignant creature called Shadow, Piccolo would not have been able to stand up against a Super Saiyan for long; he was strong, but he wasn't _that_ strong. He couldn't hold his own against Frieza after his second transformation, and the pale being had been toying with him. But then he had faced off against Kadrin, the stronger of the two hybrid brothers, and he had been able to keep him at bay for hours. Unless he had grown that much stronger in the year he himself had been gone, Goku doubted that Piccolo had been using his _ki_ alone. There were too many small details, too many facts that were bothering him, that had been overlooked before. The length of time he had held the man off. The color of his _Makankosappo_. The strength in that attack. And the more he thought about it, the more he grew convinced that Piccolo had been working with borrowed _ki_.

And that borrowed _ki_ might not be on loan any more. It might be his to wield.

Goku gritted his teeth. _Piccolo must know about it by now. He would have reached the same conclusions I did, and he's always been better at thinking ahead than I am. He might even know just how much of his energy was borrowed then, and how much he's gained since._

He was jolted from his thoughts when the Namek's fist passed a mere hand's width before his face, stopping him dead in his tracks. "If you're not going to go full-out, Goku," came his low voice, "then you should go back to bed. We're not here to daydream."

Goku's muffled exclamation of surprise had barely reached his ears before the Saiyan exploded into motion. A fist aimed for his chin, with a follow-up jab to the ribs and a roundhouse kick, the swift attack rocked the Namek back on his heels and would have sent him flying if he had not been expecting it. Instead, Piccolo let the force of the other man's sudden assault twist his body around, and when his hands and knees met soil he launched himself into the air. He allowed himself a satisfied grin. _That's better._

Predictably, the Saiyan sprung into the sky after him, spiking his _ki_ as he rose and balling his hands into fists. "I wouldn't be here if I didn't take this seriously!" Goku growled. "You know as well as I do that we're missing something!" He swung both fists in rapid succession at Piccolo's face. "I can't imagine him just lightly letting go of something he's worked his entire life for!"

Piccolo dodged each fist in turn, knocking aside his hand when it came too close to duck around. "Think I don't know that?" he growled back. "He's not done with either of us, and I intend to be ready for him when he decides to show his ugly face!"

Piccolo Daimao, the Demon King, who was responsible for much of the Earth's recent troubles, was not one to be taken lightly, and both warriors knew well the folly of crossing his will. Piccolo in particular had run afoul of the other demon, and whether he liked it or not, Daimao had proved the stronger of the two. Piccolo might have been evil at one time, so long ago that it had begun to fade in the memories of all save himself, but Daimao was evil incarnate – the concentrated impurity of a Namek living on an alien, war-torn world. Few creatures from any realm could even hope to hold a candle to the raging inferno that was the Demon King.

Then again, Piccolo was his father's son.

Their volley continued for some time, until Piccolo spotted an opening in Goku's near-impenetrable defense. With a wicked grin he hooked his fist between the man's arms and connected solidly with his chin. Goku's head tipped back, and Piccolo pressed his advantage, driving his other fist into his gut. Then he grabbed one of his arms and flung it out wide, so when he slammed his knee into the other man's side the Saiyan had no immediate defense. He was thrown a few feet away by the force of the strike.

The Namek's grin faded when Goku halted his flight by bursting into his Super Saiyan state. He was temporarily blinded by the sudden flash of light but could still sense Goku's _ki_, and it told him that the Saiyan was stationary. What was he waiting for? "Fool," Piccolo muttered angrily, swiping brightness-induced tears from his eyes with one hand. He raised his voice so Goku could hear him. "You give the enemy an advantage by waiting for him to recover!"

"You're not the enemy," came the reply. The voice took form before Piccolo's swimming vision, an indistinct shape that could have been Namekian if he hadn't known better. When his sight cleared, Goku was hovering a body's length away, and for once his face was unreadable. "Stop acting like one, will you?"

Piccolo's first impulse was to snarl and leap at the man; he ignored it. The urge abated and was replaced by a more practical, more familiar emotion: anger. He felt his body arch at the base of his spine, his shoulders fall back, his legs stiffen. He spread his fingers apart…the palms of his hands tingled then burned, but when he glanced down at them they seemed fine. His eyes grew hot but he did not – _could_ not – blink. His forearms began to tingle with whatever power he was gathering. This sensation was so alien to him, so foreign…and yet so familiar, as though it had been there all along and he had paid it no heed.

Goku did not see so much as _feel_ the aura Piccolo gathered to him. His skin crawled, despite his best efforts to keep himself under control. "This is nuts!" he exclaimed softly. The Namek held his attention, and try as he might he could not tear his eyes away. He felt the impression of a red-and-black _ki_ swirling up and around his sparring partner, a horribly familiar _ki_; he desperately wanted to flinch away but found himself paralyzed.

A rush of _ki_ threw the Namek's head back, and he closed his eyes against it. It seared his skin as it raced up the length of his body. He heard his cloak whipping out behind him, but against the roar of his own _ki_ the snapping of the cloth was faint. He forced a breath in against the wild surge of energy. If he did not focus himself, it would either burn him or burst out of control! His _ki_ became visible then, a glowing white so brilliant it was tinted blue.

Bile rose in the back of his throat, leaving a sour taste in his mouth. That must not happen! He would not allow it! He was in control of himself…his _ki_ would not direct him, he would direct it! He gritted his teeth. He…was…in…control!

It could have been minutes or hours for all he knew, but at last his _ki_ relinquished its fury and quieted, leaving him shaken. Piccolo's entire body ached, from the soles of his feet to the tips of his ears, each muscle screaming in protest as he unwound himself. He focused first on relaxing each taut muscle, working his way from the neck down and testing each limb in turn. He hadn't realized how tightly his jaw had been clenched until he tasted his own blood upon his lips. His brow wrinkled in confusion; he did not think his blood had ever tasted so metallic.

Only when his body no longer protested motion did he open his eyes.

They were mirrored in a second pair of dark orbs, made darker still with concern – and _fear_? He blinked first. Impossible. He imagined it. He must have been…Goku did not fear him. He feared nothing but needles.

He never thought the Saiyan might have felt fear _for_ him.

"I think that's enough sparring for today, Piccolo," Goku said quietly. "You don't look too good."

For a moment, the Namek thought he hadn't heard the other man correctly. What did he mean, didn't look too good? He had seen better days, of course, but he was nowhere near the state he had been in when he and Tien had finally hurled the demon from his mind. And it wasn't as if Goku hadn't seen him bleed before, so the blood on his lips and face could not be cause enough for alarm.

His heart nearly skipped a beat. The man hadn't decided to turn paternal on him again, had he?

The thought alone would have been enough to make him cringe, but since he had already lived through the experience once, he knew what horrors to expect.

_Son, get away from me,_ he had snarled at the man while trying to stand against the tree he'd been meditating under a few days after their ordeal. _I don't want your help._

_You said you would accept it, Piccolo,_ Goku had replied with a grin. _Let me help you._

_I don't want your help!_

_I don't care if you want it or not, you need it! Look at you, I'm surprised you can stand at all, you're shaking so badly. Give me your hand._

Piccolo had growled at him. _I will _not_ have you acting as a nursemaid, Goku! Go away!_

It was at that point that Piccolo had pushed himself away from the tree and promptly crumpled to the ground. Amidst his sputtering curses and threats of bodily harm, Goku had scooted under his arm and lifted him to his feet again, carefully avoiding contact with his injured shoulder.

_Do you wish to die?_

To which the pert reply had been: _And what'll you do to me, Piccolo? You can't even stand, much less walk or fly, so I don't think I have anything to fear from you. I need to get you home, though, before Gohan starts worrying about us._

_I am_ not_ staying in your house!_

_Where else am I going to leave you?_

_The waterfall is just fine. Now release my arm and let me leave!_

Goku's responding chuckle sparked a strongly heated argument between them, one that ended in the Saiyan dragging a furious Piccolo into his yard. Though Piccolo resisted every step of the way, Goku was able to subdue him sufficiently enough that their trip took no longer than an hour…the Saiyan had probably learned a few choice phrases in Namekian on the way. Gohan and Chi-Chi could hardly believe their eyes, telling themselves they could not possibly be seeing what they thought they were seeing. Chi-Chi had been less than pleased with the sudden development, but to the surprise of all she managed to keep her temper in check and her lips pursed. It was nothing short of miraculous, considering what had happened to her while the Namek was under Shadow's control.

Only through the intervention of both Krillin and Yamcha had Piccolo been able to escape that family's clutches after a scant few hours. Had he stayed a moment longer, they would have wrapped him in blankets and sent him to bed. He had not doubted it for an instant, either.

_That's why I refused to stay with them in the first place,_ he reminded himself as he stared at Goku's concerned countenance. _And now I must deal with two humans snickering behind my back._

"We're done," Goku repeated, still holding his gaze.

Piccolo's _ki_ rippled involuntarily with irritation, and he frowned when the other man's eyes darkened. "Is something the matter?" he hissed.

The Saiyan now frowned as well. "Are you kidding me?" Goku asked, squinting at the Namek as if he'd suddenly sprouted a second head. "You're shaking like a tree in a windstorm!"

Piccolo quickly lowered his eyes and felt the Saiyan's gaze follow his own. He regarded his arms curiously, as if they belonged to someone else and had attached themselves to his torso. The trembling in his limbs was subtle enough to go undetected unless he had been monitored for some time, and he'd be damned if Goku hadn't done just that. "And what is it to you?" he snapped. "Do you think Daimao will call off an attack because one of us is…not in top form? He will show no mercy, and I expect you to do the same!"

_Good Kami,_ Goku thought in mock-horror, _what did I do?_ He held both hands out before him and began waving them around. "No, no, I didn't mean _that_, Piccolo! Stop twisting my words around!"

The once-friendly atmosphere had turned decidedly hostile.

Piccolo scowled and jerked his arms up to his chest. "Then would you care to tell me exactly what you _did_ mean?" he asked, the tone of his voice more demanding than questioning. "Are you implying that I am weak?"

If looks could kill… "No!" the Saiyan exclaimed. "Why do you have to be so difficult?" Goku stopped trying to fend off the other man and instead found himself mirroring Piccolo's exact posture. "What I'm saying is that it looked like you lost control of yourself for a moment, and I don't want you blowing up the planet or opening any dimensional doors or anything!"

The Namek curled back his lips in disgust. "Son…" he growled warningly.

"That," Goku continued, "and your _ki_ is oscillating something fierce. I don't know why no one else has come running yet."

"The fools know…" Piccolo froze in the midst of his sentence. A thousand thoughts rushed to the center of his attention, effectively shutting out the bitter remark he would have made at the humans' expense. _What? How…he must be kidding. There is no _possible _way I would not recognize such an effect._ Then he realized how foolish his own words sounded and grimaced. Of course it was possible. After all, he had become aware of Shadow scant _minutes_ before the demon's invasion of his mind. With the mood he had been in lately, it would be no surprise if he had not noticed a change in his own _ki_.

"Is it so obvious?" he asked finally, softly enough that Goku found it necessary to move closer to the other man to hear him clearly.

The Saiyan shrugged. "It is to me. Might be 'cuz I've been keeping an eye on you for a while now, though, so it's probably not that noticeable to everyone else." Then he shot the Namek a wide grin. "I'm good like that, you know."

Piccolo snorted. "Indeed." _If he is right, and my _ki_ is fluctuating so rapidly, then what is the cause behind the change?_ he wondered. _Or rather, why would it surface now, weeks after it logically should have appeared?_

_What have I missed?_

"Piccolo," Goku interrupted, effectively breaking his self-examination, "we can land now. I'm not risking another outburst like that."

The Namek frowned and dropped his gaze, staring past his feet to the ground more than a hundred feet below him and wondering how they had ascended so high. _Feh. There must be much that escapes my notice these days._ Both men powered down simultaneously and lowered themselves to the damp earth.

"Oh, and Piccolo?"

The green man snapped his eyes back up to meet Goku's. "_What_?"

"How were you able to find me?"

Piccolo contemplated ignoring him and simply flying away, but with his luck Goku would follow him and nag him until he gave in. Besides, rumor had it the Saiyan had been taking what could only be termed as 'pathetic lessons' from his only son, for the express purpose of wearing down his iron resolve. Kami knew he couldn't stand a sad, dejected-looking Gohan. If Goku started in on it, too, he would collect the Dragonballs and wish himself off the planet. Knowing that one Son was able to twist him around was irritating enough. If the other joined in…

Damn that man.

Piccolo sighed instead. "You did not have your _ki_ spread enough. It was blended well around the fringe, but the nearer I came to your hiding place the stronger the feel of your _ki_ became. I spotted you because I found the location at which it was the most concentrated."

"Oh." Goku shrugged. "Guess I'll have to work on that, won't I?" He watched his sparring partner for a response, but when he saw none was forthcoming he continued. "D'ya think it'll be safe to work with Gohan again, try and make him ascend again?"

"It has to be done sooner or later, Goku. Send him here this afternoon, if you do not feel like doing it yourself."

"All right, then." Goku leaped into the air and hovered a few feet away. "If he comes out here, don't try anything that'll make him attack you. I don't want my son fried to a crisp."

Piccolo returned the Saiyan's grin with a smirk of his own, but one that did not reach his eyes. "You know I will not guarantee that."

Goku withheld a sigh. "I kinda figured that." Just then his stomach rumbled ominously, and his face grew pinched. "I've got to get home now, anyway. My stomach's gonna start digesting itself if I don't get something else in it. See you later, Piccolo." He spun around and flew off.

But when he had put an appreciable distance between himself and the Namek, Goku paused and glanced back over his shoulder. "Take care of yourself. Kami knows we can't face another demon now."

* * *

I might as well just say that I'm aiming for an update every week and a half to two weeks. I injured my arm this summer and can't type for any real length of time without taking long breaks. Depending on how long each chapter is, I can't guarantee an updating schedule for you.

But other than that…thank you for your kind reviews, and thanks for reading this chapter!

-Dreamwraith


	3. Chapter Three

**Disclaimer:** I do not own DBZ. And even if Toriyama was willing to part with it, do you think he'd give it to _me_?

* * *

**Chapter Three**

Piccolo pretended to ignore his Saiyan observer, disregarding the expression that would surely be on his face; he imagined Goku studying him the way one would eye a sleeping snake.

For all he knew, he was about as dangerous as one, too.

He snarled at his own thoughts, mostly, and partly at the man who had the audacity to challenge _him_. What was Goku thinking? He was in control of himself, and they both knew it. After the whole demon fiasco, Piccolo had tightened his mental fortifications to the point that he could barely feel Gohan's soft touch in the back of his mind. Apparently it worked both ways, for the boy had come to him after a week of silence, wondering what he had done to shut himself out. Gohan had thought it might have been the 'incident' during their last spar that caused the Namek to close himself off so completely.

Piccolo felt his fist clenching and forced himself to relax. Goku was a Saiyan, not a Namek, not a demon. Saiyans dealt in brute strength and raw power. Nameks mastered their _ki_ and spent much time in contemplation. Demons, by birthright or upbringing, were consumed by the need for destruction, for death and disorder. Goku would not understand the intricate balance of order and chaos that he strove to maintain with every waking moment. Goku would never know the struggle he put up to be able to hold fast to the being he had made himself into. Goku could not comprehend the entirety of his situation. He had problems reconciling himself with it at times; he couldn't expect the Saiyan to do much more than sympathize and stay out of his way.

He remained still until Goku's _ki_ left the space above the horizon and jetted away.

"Curse you, Goku," he growled half-heartedly under his breath, dropping his stiff façade and allowing his shoulders to sag. "One of these days you _won't_ be the one with the final say. You should expect that."

Not for the first time that day did Piccolo ponder his reasons for _not_ ripping the Saiyan limb from limb (_Gohan, you idiot… you know the kid would be heartbroken…and besides, you're at least as strong as Goku now_). He could not, for the life of him, come up with a single reasonable answer.

He sighed and relinquished his temper. Rage as he might, Goku was right, in a way. He was in control of himself, but the pyrotechnic display his _ki_ had set off for him did give him second thoughts. He had only desired a quick burst of speed, a small bit of _ki_ to knock Son Goku away and to press his own attack. His body thought otherwise…and he ended up with enough _ki_ charged through his body to ignite the planet if he so desired. Kami, what power!

What he wanted to know was _how_.

The Namek snorted. "How, indeed, when it's my own body and my own _ki_ that I'm having problems with."

He began pacing the small clearing – coming from him, it was a motion of either desperation or extreme restlessness. Piccolo had never believed in wasting movement, in keeping with his practical outlook on life. Wasted motion was wasted energy, and there was no reason for it. But here he was nonetheless, marching himself up and down through the clearing in agitation. Why? What kind of problems could he possibly be having now? It was certainly the question of the day.

"This is ridiculous," he growled after a few minutes, staring down at the track he was wearing into the dirt. "I am the son of Daimao, the Demon King, and the strongest Namekian warrior in the quadrant. I have faced down Frieza, taken out two Saiyan hybrids, and resisted a mind-stealing demon. I am easily as strong as the legendary Super Saiyan. _Then why can I not handle this new _ki?"

Something glinted in the first rays of the dawning sun when he whirled back around, but when he glanced over it was no longer visible. He stopped dead in his tracks. It wasn't a metallic glow, or the reflection of light off the shattered Scouter's screen. It was the illumination one might see reflected off glass, though there were no such surfaces here. He peered down at the ground to find the offending object.

Now that he was searching, debris he had not taken prior note of stood out in sharp relief against the dark earth. Scraps of armor from both hybrids littered the clearing, some pieces large enough to fit in the palm of his hand if he had so desired, others tiny enough for Gohan to wrap his small fingers around. A clump of hair was stuck in the seam of the largest piece. Part of the Scouter clip was half-buried beside a bit of dirty cloth. The earth was even crystallized in places, particularly around the large swath of scorched ground where Kadrin had made his final stand. The heat and sheer energy of the _Makkankosappo_ must have been intense!

He ignored the bleached white of a long, slender object he had no wish to examine.

Only when he crouched down was he able to spot the offending item; Piccolo reached down and snatched it from the hardened earth. "Glass?" he wondered aloud.

He had found a vial of some sort. Though it was partially caked with mud, he was able to make out a liquid contained within the strange bottle…it looked like water, but when he tipped it on edge the liquid rolled sluggishly down the sides. _So it is viscous, which means it is not water_, he thought. _What could it be, to have survived the demolition of the spacecraft?_

Piccolo turned it over in his hands as he stood. The liquid must have been of some importance to the hybrid brothers if it had been stored in such a durable container. The more he pondered its identity, the more he was convinced it was something dangerous. But what?

His curiosity piqued, he decided to set out after someone who _would_ know. And if she did not know what the foreign liquid was, she would be able to find out.

* * *

_North Quadrant, Planet Earth: Capsule Corp._

"…for today will be sunny and hot, so get out your lawn chairs, people, and make the most of it! It's gonna be a scorcher! And now for the traffic…some congestion down by – "

Bulma slammed one hand down on the alarm clock, cutting off the announcer's cheery voice mid-sentence. Kami, how could someone be so chipper in the morning? It was, what, eight? Nine? The woman groaned and rolled over, only to end up with the bright morning sun in her face.

"Gah!" she exclaimed, flipping back over and covering her eyes. "I'm blind!" No matter that her eyes had already been closed… _It's just gonna be one of those mornings, isn't it?_ she thought, resigned. Her clock, when she finally risked a glance at its digital face, read 8:53.

The scientist sat up, bleary-eyed and rumpled, and yawned, stretching out her arms as she did so. "I can't believe I'm up so early…should've waited 'til at least ten before I got up…" Then again, she knew that if she did she would be so far behind in the testing of her latest jet capsule design she'd be stuck in last week. The two lab technicians running the experiment and test run today refused to begin the trial without her presence. And after that there was her physics laboratory inspection, and the new NMR that needed tweaking before it would perform up to her expectations, and that Saiyan cell culture she needed to check on to make certain the cells weren't going bad, and the rewiring of her old dirt bike to accommodate a remote tracking device and digital satellite-linked mapping system…

The woman sighed and slid out of bed. So much to do, and so little time to do it. The NMR machine would take a long time to work on, even if she did coerce her father into helping her. There were so many small parts that, for the sake of precision, needed to remain uncontaminated and undamaged in any way, and to proceed with maximum caution would require at least three hours. If nothing else broke.

"If NMR machines weren't so damned expensive in the first place, I'd buy another one," she grumbled, shucking her pajamas and pulling on a pair of shorts and a light-colored tube top. "But even the great and mighty Capsule Corp. can't afford a new machine each time something goes wrong with one of'em!"

After Bulma spent a few more minutes bemoaning the time of day and her lack of beauty sleep, she headed downstairs and served herself a glass of orange juice and a cinnamon bagel before sitting down at the table with her capsule diagrams and a mechanical pencil. It was just as well, too, that she was seated, for if she had been standing she would have fallen over in shock.

* * *

Piccolo debated whether or not he should knock on the door. Bulma never had liked him much, but it would be the least she could do for him. After all, if he hadn't been able to kill Kadrin, this planet would be little more than space dust. Hell, if the humans and the Saiyans hadn't been able to subdue Shadow, _he_ would have been responsible for turning the Earth into a wasteland. He snorted; he hadn't wanted to remember that part.

Overall, the scientist owed him something for his trouble. He was even bringing her something new to study. What mad scientist could resist the challenge?

Ah, but if he knocked, he would be placing himself at the mercy of Mrs. Briefs, Bulma's crazy mother. He considered the blonde woman to be clinically insane; anyone who showed no fear around _him_, the Demon King and heir apparent to a legacy of death and destruction, must be either very foolish or very courageous.

The cookie-toting woman was not very courageous.

Piccolo shuddered, but when his fists clenched the hard surface of the vial dug into the palm of his left hand. The sharp sensation brought him back to reality. He _had_ to walk through that door, whether he was accompanied by Mrs. Briefs or not. The contents of the alien bottle must be identified…anything Bulma might discover about the liquid might help him with at least one issue of his own.

The Namek reached his right hand across the front of his body and traced his fingers down the ridged flesh of his arm, along the faint scars left behind by Kadrin's sword. The healed wound itself was an anomaly for him. Because of his remarkable regenerative abilities, he had previously acquired only one or two scars…every injury he had borne during his battle with the two hybrids had left its mark on him. He was willing to believe that a minute amount of the mixture they had used before combat was still in his system, which would explain why he now had a fine tracery of pale skin along the sides of his arms and across his stomach, cheek, and leg. He was able to admit to himself, at least, that even the scarring surprised him…he had expected it to be so much worse than it had turned out to be.

If Bulma was able to identify what was in that sample, she would be able to find a drug to counteract whatever effects it might have. If it was similar to the drug that had been sprayed in his face, she might be able to help him return his healing ability up to par.

The Namek steeled his nerves. _She's only a human, and a pitifully weak one at that,_ he told himself. _What can she possibly do to me?_

Piccolo sighed and raised his hand to tap lightly on the door when it suddenly opened, revealing a yawning Dr. Briefs and a small black cat. The elderly man jumped back, knocking his glasses askew. He had obviously not been expecting a tall green visitor at his door. "Oh, my!" he exclaimed, pushing the glasses back into place. "P-Piccolo! What are you doing here?" His stammered words were punctuated by a series of meows from the black cat on his shoulder. "You aren't here for the m-mail, are you?"

Piccolo snorted and fought back the urge to just swat the man through the wall and storm into the house. "I am here to speak with your daughter," he replied. "I have…something…for her." He watched conflicting emotions cross the man's face, fear and caution balancing against his natural curiosity. After a moment Dr. Briefs' curiosity got the better of him.

The man readjusted his spectacles and peered up at the Namek through them. "Do you, now? What might that be?"

_I don't have to answer your questions, old man,_ Piccolo thought coldly._ If I so desired, I could put a _ki_ ball through your chest before you could utter a sound._ Then he gave himself a mental shake. Who was he trying to fool? He reluctantly opened his left hand and allowed the scientist to get a good, long look at the vial.

Dr. Briefs hemmed and hawed over the substance for a few minutes. "It's not one of ours," he finally declared. "Where did you get it?"

Piccolo's patience was wearing thin, and he let the other man know. "It is none of your business," he hissed, closing his hand around the bottle and jerking it away from Dr. Briefs' grasp.

Foolish the scientist might have been, but he was certainly intelligent, and he knew he had pushed the demon-Namekian too far. He stepped to one side and waved Piccolo on. "She's in the kitchen, eating breakfast. Try not to scare her too much, please."

The Namek glowered at Dr. Briefs before striding past him down the hall he had indicated.

When Piccolo was no longer in sight, the scientist slumped down in the doorway and sighed. "My word. I hope he doesn't wreck the kitchen like that Vegeta did."

* * *

Bulma glanced up from her orange juice and screamed.

Piccolo immediately clamped both hands over his ears the best he could and grimaced. "Stop that, idiot, before I have to shut you up myself!" he hissed at her. "I'm not here to kill you!"

The blue-haired woman did quiet down, but she kept a wary eye on the green man that had suddenly appeared in her kitchen doorway. "W-what do you want, Piccolo?" she squeaked. Her shaking hands found the capsule plans she had spread out before her and began gathering them together. "Did something happen to the guys?"

"No," the Namek growled. He took a few steps into the kitchen but stopped a few paces away from Bulma. Weakling female or not, she exhibited more of Chi-Chi's traits than he felt comfortable with. He half-expected her to whip a frying pan or a sword out of some place previously not accessible. "I found something that might be of interest to you."

Bulma frowned and stopped shuffling her papers. "What is it?"

In response, the Namek tossed something small in her direction. She reached out and caught it before it could hit her lap, and when she opened her hands she found a small vial containing an unknown liquid. She regarded it curiously.

"That," Piccolo said, "was found near the hybrids' landing site, where Goku blew their ship apart. It survived his _Kamehameha_ wave."

"Is that so…" The woman's words trailed off when she turned it over in her hands. She began talking to herself more than to Piccolo, but the Namek remained where he was. "Viscous, transparent liquid of unknown origin, container of unknown heat-resistant material, possibly flame-retardant. Alloy, perhaps, but non-metal or minimal metallic composition. Hmm."

Piccolo allowed her to comment aloud for a few minutes before interrupting her. "Can you find out what it is?" he asked.

Bulma tore her eyes away from the fascinating substance in her hands and snorted. "Could I ever! It should be child's play. I've been determining the chemical makeup of unknown substances since before you were born!"

Piccolo raised an eye ridge. _What a boast _that_ is,_ he thought. _They keep forgetting how young I truly am._ "How soon?"

The woman returned her gaze to the liquid. "Someone's in a hurry," she mumbled. "If you need to know that badly, I can do it now. My techies will just have to wait for me to test the capsule jet out. It wouldn't be that hard, I don't think. I shouldn't need a mass spec run on it, IR and NMR spectra should suffice. Maybe a C-13. Atomic absorption. Flame tests, sodium fusion."

_All rubbish,_ he growled to himself.

"It could be done in an hour, two at the most. Do you want to stick around for it?"

Piccolo responded before he had a chance to think it over. "Sure," he replied.

Bulma's face lit up, and he immediately berated himself. _Idiot! Kami knows what she'll do now!_

He decided he would be better off not knowing, especially when the woman leaped from her chair and escorted both him and the sample to one of her many laboratories.

* * *

Thank you for being patient with me. I've been quite busy with midterms, papers, and the like.

In case you are interested…Hana Noir, an authoress who used to write here, has a website for Namek lovers of all kinds. It is a haven for those of us who feel like chatting either about Nameks or about anything in general. The url is www . nameksei . net. There are no spaces in the link itself, but you all know how this place is about hyperlinks. I suggest you check it out, at least, and if you like what you see, become a member and post in the forums and the fanfic/fanart sections. It tends toward non-canon characters right now, but anything is game. (grin)

'Til next chapter. Thanks for reading!

-Dreamwraith


	4. Chapter Four

Just to let you know, it has been a while since I've had to work with any of these machines or run these experiments. If you find anything incorrect, let me know.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own DBZ. I claim the Seer, the demons' Hell, and any other critters I invent.

* * *

**Chapter Four**

_I can't believe I am doing this…_

Piccolo glared down the hall at a staring lab technician. The young man trembled and scrambled out of his way. Pathetic. If he kept acceding to the plans of others, he would be seen as another Goku in no time flat. He would have to do something sooner or later to relieve them of that notion.

For now, it suited his interests to follow his babbling escort. For a woman who was supposed to be terrified of him – he distinctly remembered her yelping and half-crawling, half-swimming through the sandy beach of the Kame House to get away from him, and he smirked – she was doing a rather fine job of hiding it. Then again, Bulma just might be rambling about scientific techniques to quell her rising hysteria.

"…then again, after the spectra have been run I might not need to do a sodium fusion on this thing. There might not be halogens or nitrogen in there – _ha_, fat chance of _that_ – and I'd rather not startle the techies again, with the flame and the _pop_ and all the smoke…"

Piccolo closed his eyes and cursed silently in his native language. _Why did I agree to this?_ he wondered again. Ahead of him, Bulma whipped around a corner and dodged a white-coated man carrying a tray with an anaesthetized frog. She mumbled something to the extent of 'keep me posted' as she passed by the man. Piccolo padded silently after her.

The closer they grew to whichever laboratory Bulma was taking them, the faster she began to walk. By the time they reached the double door, the woman was practically running, and had they not stopped Piccolo would have spun her around by her shoulder and yelled at her. He might be willing to cooperate with her now, but he refused to be rushed around like a guinea pig! Bulma paused only for an instant, perhaps to gather her wits about her, and shoved the doors open, Piccolo following directly behind her.

A dozen curious scientists peeked out from under, over, or behind machinery and lab benches, and all dozen faces blanched when they saw what, or rather, _who_, their research director and boss had brought into the facility. All were old enough to remember the Piccolo Daimao incident and how near the demon had come to dominating the planet. All could remember the last Tenka'ichi Budokai. And all recalled the frightening demeanor of one of its finalists.

"Is that who I think it is?" a short, white-haired man hissed across the bench top.

"I'm hoping it's _not_ who you're thinking it is!" the other scientist replied, fearfully lowering his eyes to his feet and praying to Kami the demon in the doorway would not tear his soul from his body and take it to Hell with him.

Piccolo smirked despite himself, exposing his fangs and causing a ripple of panic among the researchers. _I had forgotten the thrill that comes with terrifying humans,_ he thought, stepping further into the room. _The cries of the doomed, the way they screamed just so when…_ His mental dialogue trailed off when he realized the turn his thoughts had taken. _I sound like my sire._

He frowned. Kami knows where _that_ had come from.

Bulma formed a megaphone around her mouth with her hands. "Hey, guys, listen up!" she announced loudly, drawing a muffled curse from the Namek and winces from her scientists. "This is one of the fighters from the Budokai, and one of the guys who fought against the aliens that destroyed part of East Capital. He found an unknown solution out at a reconnaissance plane crash site, and it's nothing I've ever seen before. He wants it analyzed. Think we can figure this sucker out?"

The eight men and four women in the laboratory clustered around the door and began speaking animatedly with each other, one or two of them gesturing toward Piccolo and Bulma. One young man snickered until he was smacked in the side of the head by a middle-aged woman. A second woman shot daggers at the green man until he acknowledged her with a smirk of his own, at which she scowled and turned her head. Two other men folded their arms across their chests and calmly observed the proceedings, interjecting what they could when they could. The old man seemed to be directing the lot of them toward a conclusion.

_Normal human behavior?_ the Namek wondered.

Finally the short, aging scientist came forward and stood at the front of the group. "I think anything is possible, Miss Bulma," he said respectfully, "but should we be helping the warrior that fought against us not so long ago?"

Piccolo's temper nearly snapped, and he would have strode forward had Bulma not snapped herself. "If I thought for an instant that Piccolo wasn't acting in our best interests, I wouldn't have agreed to identify the solution for him!" the woman yelled. "As a matter of fact, finding out what this thing's made of and how it survived a high-intensity firestorm might be beneficial to our own efforts, so just listen to me and do this!"

The scientist quailed and fell back.

Piccolo looked down at the back of the woman's head with something akin to awe; the blue-haired scientist had managed to squash whatever resistance the small group of men and women might have in regards to this particular project. There were days when he envied humans for having that effect on others without terrifying them in the process. Then again, the scientists could still be harboring that defiance but were too frightened of Bulma to do anything about it.

Bulma stomped forward with the sample toward a large machine that resembled a cross between a typewriter, a copy machine, and a television. "Of all the nerve of these people…" she grumbled loudly, reaching for a small tube and a dropper full of something Piccolo assumed was TMS, a standard used in the procedure. Or so he had gathered from the scientist's ramblings about whether or not it would react with the hybrids' mixture. "How could they think like that? No love of the sciences, _that's_ for sure." The woman filled the bottom of the tube with his unknown solution and added a few drops of the TMS to it. Opening a flap along the top of the machine, she inserted the tube and began fiddling with the instrument.

The woman who had had the temerity to glare at Piccolo snatched the unguarded sample from the bench top while Bulma was occupied and began grunting directions to the other researchers. Two men headed out the door, a third jogged to the other side of the room and began rummaging through drawers and extracting various pieces of glassware. The middle-aged woman began assembling said glassware into an apparatus straight out of the classic mad scientist's laboratory. The rest of the group seemed to melt into the walls, searching for different chemicals, appliances, and labeling tape. The first woman walked around each lab bench and poured a small amount of the solution into waiting receptacles.

Around the room beakers caught fire, the color and odor of the flame observed and recorded. In one corner a test tube held over a burner shot flames out its mouth with a loud _pop_, accompanied by a small cloud of smoke and a horrible smell. Several of the scientists jumped at the sound. In another, a small machine scribbled furiously across a roll of paper, the pen squeaking as it was scratched along the paper. And at her station, Bulma kicked the NMR and cursed loudly.

Piccolo was lost in the bustle the moment the group had scattered. The single, organized unit had broken into several cohesive subunits, and he was baffled. _How can these humans be doing this?_ he wondered, gawking at the scientists. _They're running around the room like chickens with their heads chopped off, but yet they do not collide or obstruct each other. How is this so? Is this some special ability that I have not heard about?_

_And more importantly, why are they suddenly unafraid of me?_ But the more he pondered this, the more he came to realize that if the scientists were to be faced, right now, with the prospect of being trapped in a room with either himself or an irate Bulma, most of them would probably have their fortunes divided out and their bags packed for the Afterlife. They would welcome death with open arms.

Bulma was sheer torture.

In fact, he would rather have the flesh flayed from his bones while still alive than be faced with the prospect of spending more than an hour with that woman. Even thinking about it made him feel trapped. Perhaps it was the lab itself, closed in and crawling with so many humans, that settled heavily on his shoulders and forced itself down on his mind. The Namek could feel a headache coming on, and he growled low in his throat.

"Ah HA!" aforementioned woman shrieked after a moment, and all commotion in the room came to a screeching halt at her outburst. "The old one still works!"

Piccolo winced at her high-pitched tone and tried not to appear _too_ interested in the proceedings. Apparently, whatever she had done to the machine after kicking it had fixed it, at least temporarily. Some human contraption stuck to the top of the NMR had spit out a long piece of paper, with a labeled graph, black squiggles that reminded him of nothing more than several of Gohan's dust doodles, and a curving red line that jumped at several intervals on the paper. Two or three of the other scientists made their way to Bulma's self-designated work station and began poring over the results, their furtive whispers punctuated by violent jabs to the paper.

The blue-haired woman whipped a ruler from her pocket and joined them.

"What a waste of time," the Namek muttered, tearing his eyes from the numbers and notations that sprung up on the paper. He spun on his heels and bee-lined for the least active of the researchers.

He spared no time with pleasantries. "You," he growled, burying his fist in the man's lab coat and whipping the researcher around to face him. He leaned forward until their faces were a mere hand's breadth apart. "Tell her I will be waiting outside the door. I have no time and little patience for her games."

He released the man, and he dropped several feet to the floor and scrambled away on his hands and knees. Piccolo spared him a frown but nothing else; he hadn't realized he had lifted the man off the floor in the first place. It was proof that he needed to calm himself, and _fast_. He did not want to risk another outburst like the one he'd had earlier with Goku. The lab wouldn't survive its force, and then he would have to deal with the rest of the Earthlings coming after him for the death of the blue-haired loudmouth.

What a frightening thought _that_ was.

He strode out the door without a sound and ignored how the room fell silent as he passed the humans by, brushing aside their incredulous and worried stares.

It was only when the Namek reached the hall that he felt the oppressive weight lift from his shoulders. He sighed and gingerly rubbed his forehead. "That liquid is far more trouble than it is worth," he told himself, "and yet I persist. I must be spending too much time with the Son family." With all the grace of a professional dancer, Piccolo lifted himself into the air one leg at a time and settled into his lotus position. He would have to compromise. He would stay here, in the hallway, and await Bulma's results, and in the meantime he would meditate. Anyone who stared at him with anything less than the utmost of caution, respect, and fear would be met with a deep scowl.

Piccolo valued meditation as both a means of training and a means of relaxation. Now it was used for self-control. However, he was wary of meditating in a place like this, with people around that could be hurt or killed if something went wrong. It had happened what seemed like ages ago in the Kame House, when the Son family, the Kame House residents, and himself had gathered around the table after an afternoon spent fishing. He had dropped off into a semi-conscious state to calm himself, and the demon, Shadow, had invaded his mind, pushed past his weakened barriers and made him see red. Even now he could clearly remember the blood that had dripped down the edge of his vision. Then came the fateful day he lost control.

_Lost control_.

Piccolo, the Namek with a heart of stone and cold, depthless eyes, Demon King by birthright and a _ki_ master in his own right, with emotional barriers thicker than those of the Saiyan prince, had lost his mind to a minion of his sire. He had been on the beach outside the Kame House, in meditation, when the creature had begun his final assault.

_Get away from me,_ he had snarled. _I will not fall to you._

_Ah, but you don't know that, now do you?_ had come its insidious reply.

He gritted his teeth as he continued down his train of thought. Like a coward, he had bolted for the Lookout. And giving in despite the long years of hatred between them, he had asked Kami for help.

Needless to say, he was wary of entering into meditation here, but he had no real choice; keep the headache and risk losing control of his temper – an immediate danger – or meditate and risk losing control of himself. Piccolo snorted quietly and closed his eyes. He'd rather keep it together now, if he could.

He began the slow descent into himself with the caution of a young child. The sensation was akin to stepping into a cool stream, immersing oneself inch by inch. As he felt himself relaxing and falling into a state of utter calm, as his awareness of the physical and material world around him faded into nothing, his sense of the higher world and that of the psyche opened abruptly on a vast horizon. He stepped outside of himself and saw the world with a clarity he would not have possessed in his physical body. _Here_ was his calm. _Here_ was his soothing world. Here was time itself.

Piccolo allowed himself a rare smile. He would stop here. If he had ventured further as usual, this heightened sense would have faded away and he would have reached his own core. At any other time this would have been the desired result, but for now he was content to stay at this level.

He closed his mental eyes and focused on one place in particular.

Then the world around him blurred, colors flashing by with an almost violent intensity, and he found himself surrounded by a light, airy sensation. He had arrived.

He opened his eyes and welcomed the sight of his waterfall.

_Now_ he could meditate, with his physical body in the lab and his ethereal self in the most calming location he knew.

* * *

Bulma frowned at her results and flipped through the other printout once more. _This can't be right,_ she thought. _How could the computer have already recognized these spectra? I've never run this solution before, have I?_

"Is something the matter, Miss Bulma?" the middle-aged woman asked. "Is the data sound?"

"Yes, it is," she replied hesitantly. "I just don't see how we would have already had access to this stuff if it's been in this vial the whole time."

"Perhaps it was found in trace amounts in another sample," the woman suggested.

Bulma glanced up from the infrared spectrum graph and blinked. "Maybe." _But where would I have found something like this before? Hmm…Piccolo said he found it at the hybrids' landing site, so presumably it was on their ship at one point. But then he found it somewhat buried. Okay, that's plausible. I don't think he's lying. So one of the hybrids was probably holding it when he left the ship to go fight with Goku and Piccolo._

_But why would he have released it?_

"There was no need for it," she muttered out loud.

"Pardon?"

Bulma blinked again and focused her eyes on the other woman. "There would have been no need for the vial if its contents had already been used."

"Of course, Miss Bulma," she replied, though she was thoroughly lost. She and the other researchers had learned long ago that there were times it was best to just let the blue-haired woman babble to herself and just respond appropriately. This seemed to be one of those times.

Bulma thought, and she thought hard. She had to be missing something. If she had already obtained a sample, say, after the solution had been used, where would she have gotten it?

Images of an incapacitated Goku scrambling away from her nudged their way into the foreground of her mind. _Quit moving and hold still_, she remembered telling him, brandishing two or three swabs and a syringe. _I'm doing this for science, you dolt. You had some really interesting stuff on your skin when Tien and Gohan brought you and Piccolo in._

_Then why don't you get your sample from him?_ Goku had wailed.

_Because you aren't going to kill me for touching you! Now hold still!_

The older printout beside her new data was from the substance she had removed from Goku's face and found in his blood sample.

Bulma's eyes widened perceptibly, and she felt the blood drain from her face. "Oh, Kami," she gasped, raising one hand to cover her mouth. "I know what this is."

* * *

Homework, as usual. Only this time, my roomies and I have acquired a ball of fur called Monster. Monster is currently teething. Hence my hands look like they have been run through a cuisinart. And that, of course, affects typing a bit. So I shall apologize once more for the delay.

Thank you for reading this chapter, and thank you for visiting Nameksei. Sadly, our webmistress had to restart the whole thing because someone hacked into the forum board and wrecked it. Which pisses me off to no end. So if you want to see the forums we're slowly rebuilding, you have to join up. You're welcome to, of course.

'Til next chapter.

-Dreamwraith


	5. Chapter Five

**Disclaimer:** Wish I did, but I don't.

* * *

**Chapter Five**

Bulma stared at the sample on the table across the room with a mixture of horror and excitement. "I know what it is," she repeated breathlessly. "I _have_ seen it before…do you have any idea how important this find is?"

The middle-aged female scientist before her squinted at the printouts spread across the lab bench. "Actually, Miss Bulma, I don't," she replied. "If you had already been exposed to this compound, then you would have realized what it could do and had it patented and out on the market."

Bulma spared the woman a pointed glance before frantically shuffling through her notes. "No, no, no, you're missing the point!" she exclaimed. "It's important as in 'helping people' important! Not patenting and all! The fighter who found this stuff was under its influence for a few weeks, and now that we've found out what it is I can start testing to make sure he's clean and come up with an antidote or something!" Her mind went into overdrive.

_I managed to get a sample of the chemicals the hybrids sprayed on you, Goku, and they contained a regenerative inhibitor that seems to have been created specifically for combat against species that can regenerate themselves, like Nameks and starfish…an analysis of the chemical structure of the senzu bean proves what I've been thinking all along, that it's not the bean itself that does the healing. Rather, it's the body that does the healing…the bean is just a catalyst._

"I thought it wasn't biological."

"It is, in a way," Bulma replied, ignoring the other woman's questioning frown. "It affects the body like a biological weapon, even though it's chemical in nature. So really, I'm not positive. What I _do_ know is that it's very harmful and detrimental to one's health. I'd suggest you not touch it."

_Piccolo, I need you to tell me all about that psi-down mixture Goku keeps telling us about. He's not suffering any effects from it, so I can't ask him. That leaves you. So spill._

The scientist scrambled for her pencil. "Psi-down…psi-down…ah, yes, that's it…" she murmured, scribbling the word down the margin of the top spectrum. "Now what was that other thing, that inhibitor…I have to ask Piccolo about that!" She then tucked the pencil behind her ear and swept her papers into a small stack. "Now that I know what I'm dealing with, or at least _part_ of it, I probably won't be back until later this afternoon. You know where to find the inventory list, so when the supply company calls, you can handle it. Right?"

The middle-aged woman lowered her head demurely and folded her hands on the tabletop. "Fuming sulfuric acid, bovine albumin, and solid potassium chloride. What would you like me to tell your physics laboratory?"

Bulma straightened her back and clutched her papers to her chest. "Tell them my dad will take care of the inspection. Kami knows he'd let'em off easy, anyway. They're lucking out."

"Will that be all then, Miss Bulma?"

The blue-haired woman shrugged. "I guess so. I can always test the capsule jet out later, and the NMR can wait. Ah, hell, but I have to check on that cell culture before I go anywhere. If anyone has important business, I'll be around for the next twenty minutes. Tell them to find me by then. And _only_," she added, frowning for emphasis, "if it's vital. I don't want someone disturbing me because the bathroom's out of toilet paper again."

"Yes, Miss Bulma."

"Thanks. I owe you."

The scientist and heiress to Capsule Corp. flashed the other woman a brilliant smile before literally dashing off through the lab, upsetting more than one experiment in progress and nearly losing her grip on her papers when she collided with one of the technicians. Muffled curses and frustrated groans followed her out the door.

The woman slumped, visibly relieved, when the double door swung shut. "What a nightmare," she breathed. "It's a good thing she doesn't do this too often."

* * *

Piccolo felt more than heard Bulma's approach and reluctantly began to draw himself back into physical reality. It was a slow process this time. In any other place, at any other time, he could have been back in the physical realm in the blink of an eye. It would have taken but a thought to realize were he at his waterfall. Here, he was distracted. There were too many humans, too many high-pitched whines, for him to want to return to that kind of awareness.

The Namek gave the mental equivalent of a sigh. _Figures._

He cast a final, regretful 'look' over his shoulder at the waterfall and closed his mental eyes, focusing on the path he had followed. He ignored the familiar vertigo of such travel as he traced back to the broader reality that held time in its outstretched hands. It was only when he began ascending back out of himself that he felt something out of the ordinary.

It started out as a tickle at the bottom of his consciousness. Piccolo paid the nagging feeling no heed. After all, it felt nothing at all like the pricking he had felt when Shadow had been after him. He figured it to be nothing more than someone (_or something_, he whispered to himself) checking in on him. It was probably Kami. There was no need for him to panic.

When the feeling did not subside, he slowed his ascent and drew his submerged awareness to it. No sooner than he brushed the outer edge of its reach did it retreat and disappear. The action confirmed his suspicions…it was just a watcher. Nothing more. He refocused on the laboratory and burst free of his meditation like a swimmer from water.

He opened his eyes again in the hallway in time to see Bulma staring at him with some concern. "Are you…" she began to ask.

_This just keeps getting better and better, doesn't it?_ "I'm fine," Piccolo spat. "And I would be much better if you would have left me alone."

The scientist cleared her throat. "Well, um, that's not going to be possible right now."

The Namek frowned and uncurled his legs. "Why not?" he asked.

Bulma quailed at the menacing tone his voice held, but she was determined to not be intimidated (_too much,_ she added in her thoughts) by the powerful fighter now standing before her. But Kami, was it hard not to! The top of her head didn't even reach the Namek's shoulders! She found herself wishing for Yamcha to magically appear and whisk her away before beating the tar out of the frightening man. _Fat chance of that,_ she thought amidst her own mental turmoil. _Piccolo's so much stronger than Yamcha that he'd be dead in three seconds flat._ She found voice enough to speak when Piccolo deepened his scowl. "Because I think I've found out what's in that sample you gave me."

Had the human been able to read any further into Piccolo's facial expression, she would have been able to see how interested he suddenly became. She did not notice the almost imperceptible widening of his eyes, nor how he leaned forward the slightest bit. She could not see how the rigid lines of his body relaxed. "Then spit it out, already. I don't have all day," he growled.

_Sure, you don't._ The snide thought bubbled to the foreground of her mind, and Bulma was pressed to keep from snickering. The Namek's formidable presence helped with that. "Well, after running it through the NMR, and after we identified the substituent chain off the third carbon, the flame test came back positive for…" and here she gulped before continuing, because Piccolo was giving her a look that said in no uncertain terms that he was losing his patience. "Right. I think it's a surviving portion of the chemical the hybrids used on you and Goku before you all started fighting." _So much for the pause-for-dramatic-emphasis._

This time Bulma was able to catch the shocked expression on his face before he composed himself and slammed down his mask again. "You mean the liquid that started most of this mess?" he asked incredulously. "What kind of material was it stored in?"

"I haven't determined that," Bulma replied. She angled her head up so she could clearly see his face, clear and unhindered by shadows and tricks of the lighting. _Kami,_ she swore before she could stop herself,_ he looks so young now! It's so hard to remember that he's not much older than Gohan…how did he make it this far alone?_ She felt the hairs rise on the back of her neck, and her face flushed red when she realized she had been staring at him…and that he had noticed.

If she had to choose at that instant between Vegeta and Piccolo as to which of the two of them had the more frightening countenance, Piccolo would have won. Hands down.

"You need not show me pity, woman," Piccolo hissed at her, his dark eyes boring into her own. Bulma wanted to shrivel up and melt into the floor, but she held his gaze – despite the fact that her legs wanted to fold up beneath her and her hands were shaking so badly she could see the motion peripherally. "I've made it this far just fine. Don't you _dare_ pull a Kami on me."

She had no time to ponder his statement before he spun on his heel and stalked away. _Of all the…_ "Hey!" she yelped, taking off after him. "Wait! Where are you going?"

He ignored her and kept walking.

Bulma felt her mouth drop open. _Nobody_ ignored her. Except Piccolo, apparently. She closed her mouth and screwed her face into a scowl of her own. If he was going to play this game, that was fine with her. Dealing with petulant brats was her specialty. She had to break into a jog to catch up, but in a matter of seconds she had drawn up alongside the Namek. "I _said_, where are you going, Piccolo?" she repeated angrily.

"It's none of your business."

_That does it!_ "Like _hell_ it's not!" she exploded. "You know something about the chemical that you yourself gave to me and demanded I identify, and you're walking away with it! What do you know about it that you're not telling me?" The blue-haired woman raced around in front of him and stopped abruptly in his path. The Namek had to stop on his toes to keep from running into her.

"What do you think you're doing?"

One enflamed temper was met by another, and the few technicians that had been standing in the hall scurried out of their way. "What does it _look_ like I'm doing?" she screeched, not caring that the pitch hurt the Namek's ears and had him hissing in pain. "I'm not moving until you tell me what the name of the mixture was, and anything and everything you know about it."

Piccolo easily returned her glare, using his greater height to his advantage. She might have the temper and wits to match him, but he was the Demon King, a master of intimidation. She would fall to her knees in fear before him if he wanted to press the issue. For now, it would suffice to merely remind the woman of her vulnerability. "You want to know, do you? The psi-down diminishes psychic abilities, such as shielding and communication. Any attempts result in pain. The 'G' affects regeneration, or so Goku and Kami think. Not so much normal healing, but for those races with a special ability for it. It might also affect the gradual renewal of one's _ki_, but we couldn't tell."

Any retort Bulma might have replied with was pushed aside by his abrupt explanation. She opened her mouth to speak but found herself at a loss for words. Instead she whipped a small notepad from her pocket and her pencil from behind one ear and began furiously scribbling out what the Namek had just said. So intent was she on copying out the information that she hardly registered the soft swish that marked the warrior's passage, nor did she hear his footsteps as he moved farther down the hall.

Her lapse in awareness saved her life.

Bulma looked up from her notes to ask Piccolo a few more questions when she realized he was no longer there. Her momentary confusion was suddenly broken when the sound of shattering glass reached her ears, followed by a loud crash and the thud of a heavy object hitting the tiled floor.

She took off toward the source at a dead run.

* * *

The instant the irritating woman had lowered her head to her work, Piccolo stormed off, fury marring his normally fluid stride. He had only asked her to identify the substance inside the vial, not interrogate him about past events he would rather leave buried. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides. How could that woman be so obnoxious? The only thing that could be worse than her right now, in his opinion, would be Goku pleading with him to spar together for the next month straight.

The Namek was on edge as he followed the winding hallway through the building, so when he caught unexpected motion out of the corner of his eye he leapt back and brought both fists up before him, nearly tripping over an abandoned supply cart in the process. His eyes locked upon the cause for confrontation.

He bit back an obscenity and what would have been a sharp laugh.

_Some fight this would be,_ he thought, ruefully eying his reflection. Piccolo was not a vain man by any stretch of the imagination, but he preferred to examine every aspect of his adversary. Even when it was as unexpected as a highly-polished mirror. As to the purpose behind hanging a mirror in the hallway of a research building he could not guess, but he relaxed by degrees the more he considered his 'enemy'…

…Only to tense up once more.

The figure that locked eyes with his own could have been mistaken for his reflection at first glance, a trick the Namek had fallen for. As Piccolo looked on with apprehension, the edges of the image blurred and distorted. Warning bells went off in the back of his mind, but he stepped forward and put a hand to the surface of the glass. He had to be sure.

The reflection's hand remained motionless.

Piccolo removed his hand and scowled. "What do you want?" he demanded.

The image blinked and favored the Namek with a smirk of its own. _Why, Piccolo,_ came an amused voice in his head, _one would think you didn't already know the answer._

Piccolo had to restrain himself from reaching out again, this time to grasp the creature's throat. "What else do I need to do to show you that I'm not interested in your little games?" he growled.

_Dying is preferable, though you did seem to enjoy the last messenger we sent._

"I turned from your path a long time ago. Get over it!"

The figure regarded him mockingly with its now-red eyes. _Not true, Piccolo, and you know it. You know what was awakened within you. You can feel it. You can feel _us. _And at times, you can even see and hear us. If there was nothing of the demonic within you, how would this be possible?_

"Get out of my sight."

The creature that was channeling itself through the mirror winced, causing ripples through the image. Only with great effort it was able to maintain its sending. _If that was not proof enough for you,_ it said with a frown, _then you must be less intelligent than we have heard. Only a demon lord possesses the power to command obedience. It's too bad that you do not yet have the necessary strength to –_

In the part of the mirror that still reflected the hallway, Piccolo noticed a shifting in the shadows beneath the cart. "That's enough!" he roared, driving his fist into the mirror and shattering the glass.

He realized in that instant that he had made a terrible mistake, and he paid for it scant seconds later.

For a _ki_ master, there are few natural laws that cannot be bent or broken through energy manipulation. Such a master has a high degree of control over their physical body. Weather patterns can be altered or harnessed. People on the brink of death can be brought back to life. The earth can be lifted from its foundations. The face of the planet can be reshaped and reformed. Magical laws, however, cannot be tampered with without serious repercussions. Energies put into spells must be channeled into a new source once a particular spell is ended or broken, the most common of which is the land itself and the surroundings of the affected object. If this is not done and the spell brought to a proper completion, the effects can be disastrous.

Piccolo felt the fragile glass shatter beneath his fist, several of the pieces piercing his hand and slicing it open. Every muscle in his body shrieked at him to get away from the disrupted spell, but by the time he registered the warning it was too late. Thin arcs of light burst forth from what was left of the ruined mirror, lancing through Piccolo in the frantic search for grounding and hurling his stunned form back into the cart. A wave of force from the broken spell rippled down the hall with a dull boom, shattering all glass and delicate instruments in its path and slamming both the Namek and the cart into the wall again. The sturdy paneling cracked. Piccolo fell to the ground…the cart was trapped in the wall.

Then the energies dissipated, and he was left with the sound of many feet pounding toward him. He thought he heard a shrill squeal coming from the demolished portal, but when he pushed himself to his hands and knees he could see nothing. The voice that gave that cry was not human, nor had it ever been.

_Remember,_ the creature's voice echoed, and then it was drowned out by the loud voice of one obnoxious woman.

"Piccolo!" Bulma shouted, stopping so suddenly her shoes screeched against the tiled floor. "What happened? Is everything all right? What was it? Is something –"

"Be quiet!" Piccolo groaned, cutting her off. He raised one hand to the side of his head, though he knew it would do nothing to dampen the ringing in his ears or the stars bursting behind his eyes. "It…it's gone, whatever it was."

Bulma nodded silently, turning only to direct one of the staring technicians behind her to call the Son house and drag Vegeta from his gravity chamber, and to pull the plug on its power source if he thought it necessary. When he ran off, she gingerly knelt down beside the Namek. She made certain he could focus his eyes on his own hands before she asked, "Are you sure?"

"Yes."

Piccolo gritted his teeth. _I thought we would have more time than this,_ he growled to himself. _There should have been no way for this to happen unless it was Daimao himself._ He thought back to his distorted mirror image and tried to ignore its fanged grin. _But that wasn't him._

He cast a final glance at the shattered mirror before standing. _That thing couldn't have been right. I haven't followed that path in a long time. I have nothing that ties me to them._

_How badly have I underestimated Daimao?_

* * *

I can come up with excuses until I'm blue in the face. If you've read the previous story, you know I don't update unless the quality is good, and that school work comes first. Being done with the latter for a while, I can now work on the former.

Thank you for waiting. I promise the next chapter will be up in less than two months.

-Dreamwraith


	6. Chapter Six

(_frazzled_) I had errors? Where?

And DeathStorm, since you asked so nicely…you should enjoy this.

**Disclaimer:** If stuff like this doesn't convince you I don't own it, then nothing else will.

* * *

**Chapter Six**

_Hell_

The small hearth fire threw deep shadows across the interior of the hut, mingling with the reddish-yellow light trickling in from the holes in its roof. The chunks of rock that had fallen through the ceiling reminded the hovel's lone inhabitant of the Demon Lord's wrath, and of how much power he could draw to him in this fearful place.

It also served to remind said creature of the strength of that demon's child.

Staring at the thin stress lines in the otherwise perfect scrying ball, the Seer blinked. "Perhaps I should have addressed him as Ma Junior," it commented to itself. "He might have responded less violently." Its slender tail thrashed behind it, belying its otherwise calm demeanor. The act was truly upsetting, and more than that, proved that indirect action was no longer possible. The young demon was turning out to be quite a problem.

It shifted uncomfortably in its seat beside the fire pit and gazed into the fire's depths, searching for anything that would give it leverage in the days to come. It was among the most simple of exercises for one who wielded sorcery, for the hypnotic dance of the red-hued flames reached deep into the mind and drew one's concentration to that which would have gone unnoticed. A being as strong and as gifted as the Seer could find many things inside of a fire. But when several moments passed without results and no images formed in the flames, the demon leaped to its feet and knocked the polished rock askew with its tail. It ignored the water streaming down its face from its burning eyes and angrily spat into the fire, which then flared up. How could its concentration be so disrupted by something that had once been so trivial?

The Seer was one of many demons residing in the section of Hell set aside for their foul kind. Despite the large number of _living_ denizens of the underworld, only a select few beings (living or deceased) would dare to traverse the unmarked border into this forbidding realm. The reddish land was hostile and barren, and if a careless traveler did not watch his step, he would not live to take another. Even passersby were wary of the border, no matter what evils they had committed to earn a place in Hell. The Seer had its name for a reason, not the least of which was its constant vigil over the lands of the damned and its swift retribution against those it did not deem worthy of passage. It wielded great power in its realm. But even so, Daimao was one of the beings who need not fear Hell. He _ruled_ it.

The demon humphed thoughtfully and turned its back on the tool, its wings unfurling behind it like a macabre banner. "This is quite a conundrum. On one hand, Daimao wants you to throw open the doors and call us to you. You very well may, if things stay as they are. But on the other hand, you _are_ coming into your own, aren't you? You might discover what is happening to you and put a stop to it. Or you may decide to come to the source, seeking answers."

The dark demon frowned. Answers, indeed. If the brat was anything like his father, he would tear the place to shreds before asking around. And with that temper of his, he wouldn't be too long about it.

The Seer glared in the direction of the upper caverns, the location of Daimao's throne and home of a myriad of foul things…all of which bowed to the Demon Lord's might. It regretted ever offering its services to the demon. After the events of the previous weeks, it was beginning to understand the chaos of the other's mind. And even for something as corrupt as itself, it did not like what it saw. Reward notwithstanding, once Daimao got what he wanted the Seer would cut its ties with him.

It sighed then and lowered its gaze. Daimao's arms were long, and his reach farther. It had better watch what it was thinking. Who knew what else Daimao had in his employ – or, more aptly, under the weight of his intimidating presence. It didn't want to dig itself into a deeper hole than it already had. The demon lord had a habit of devouring everything in his path.

Piccolo Daimao was one of the most feared creatures in Hell, after all, dead or alive.

But the Seer had an ability that Daimao had not yet tapped, though he had seen it firsthand. It could, at times, see into the future with enough clarity to predict times, dates, and exact locations. It had done so once in the demon lord's presence. And yet Daimao had said nothing to it, had not requested a more thorough sighting.

_Your son will come back to his roots,_ it had intoned._ And then not even Goku would be able to stop you from breaking free. Yes, then we will see who is stronger, the father or the son._

Why not, it wondered. It had concentrated on visions before with success…that was not an issue. Could the elder demon be afraid of something as simple as fate?

The Seer snorted and dismissed the idea out of hand.

It whirled back around and regarded its scrying ball with a scrutinizing glare. There were few creatures in the mortal realm that could have damaged something it was so intimately connected to. And now that number had increased by one. It did not need the extra aggravation, especially when it turned out to be the key to the whole mess. It snorted again. Damn Ma Junior. If it had been up to the dark-skinned demon, it would have sent one or two Arachi to drag the brat to Hell and finish him off when the plot had first been undertaken. At the very least, Shadow would have been granted more time in the living realm. At most, Daimao would have had his portal.

But now its mist-cloaked protégé was dead, erased, and Ma Junior was expecting another attack. His sire had not waited long enough before making his move, and he was paying for it. They must tread carefully now if they wanted to catch the brat by surprise.

The Seer chuckled at the thought of surprising the son of the Demon Lord, a harsh, crackling laugh. It hadn't been that difficult a moment ago, and allowing one of its cavern's smaller denizens to bleed through into the lab hallway had been a wise choice. If Ma Junior had been the panicking type, he most certainly would have fled. As it was he had lost his composure. He had been unnerved enough to act irrationally. Enough of Daimao's memories had planted themselves in his head for him to know the consequences of shattering a magical construct or spell without proper grounding. With any luck, the whelp had been injured.

If its venture into Ma Junior's mind had also revealed truth, then the liquid he had been hit with in his battle with the hybrids continued to affect him, and it would still be days before he would return to normal. It had taken him this long to reach the regeneration rate of a human, and only with the help of the Earthlings' senzu beans did he not still harbor broken bones and terrible burns. The beans had done most of the work, of course. If the female scientist had been right, the rotten things amplified one's own healing rate, and now that the hybrids' serums were fading from his system Ma Junior had regained some semblance of his former regenerative ability for them to work on. But despite that, the Seer would have been willing to wager that the young demon would be nursing whatever consequences the spell's disruption had had for him for some time.

The summons came halfway through its fit of laughter.

It began as a slight tingle down the Seer's spine, but it dismissed the sensation as the residue of its spell. Such an effect was not unheard of, after all. It subsided for a heartbeat, then returned twice as strong, sending tremors down its arms, legs, and tail, and across its leathery wings. The Seer grunted at the odd prickle and shook the feeling away, its greasy hair catching the faint light and holding it. "So," it grumbled to itself, "Daimao needs to see me, does he? What can he not do, that requires the attention of another?"

The Seer grunted again and, with the wave of a hand, extinguished the fire. It should have expected a summons from the Demon Lord, especially now that Ma Junior had proven himself sensitive to them. Daimao had surely been monitoring the brat's progress (or lack thereof) and would have noticed the backlash of the spell. It would be an adequate reason for summoning the Seer to his cavern. If that were so, then the question that remained was what the demon would be planning for this occasion. Was he going to set the Seer to another task, or were his designs more sinister in nature?

It hoped for the latter, so long as it did not have to break the physical ban that had been placed on it by Uranai Baba.

"Something will come of this day," it solemnly told the dying embers. "Be it help or hindrance, there will be a new twist for the brat."

* * *

The discordant shrieking of a dozen voices in agony brought a grin to Piccolo Daimao's lips. He eyed the tortured creatures with something akin to hunger, for it was their pain he thrived on. Yet his intense gaze did not rest upon them for long, and when he felt his sorcerous ally respond to his summons he turned his attention to the arch that served as a doorway. Those who had seen the Demon Lord's living son often remarked upon their resemblance, for the same smirk that now graced the sire's face was often reflected on that of the child. "Perfect," he drawled. "Would it only stay that way."

The demon leaned forward on his throne and sighed. So much to do, so much he wanted to accomplish, and so little time to do it. Though he doubted that Ma Junior would fall to pieces over something as asinine as growing into his birthright, it would have been amusing to watch. And when the brat was distracted, he would have made him open a portal. He gave an imperceptible shrug. There would be time for that once he planned out his new method of attack.

But despite all of this, and despite his nonchalant manner, something was amiss. Even the reptilians that flanked either side of the path to his throne could feel it, and when they thought the demon lord was not looking they exchanged nervous glances over the doomed souls writhing on the floor. The dull-witted creatures were just intelligent enough to realize that Daimao needed no guards and that they could find themselves targets without a moment's notice.

Daimao was in a foul mood, and all of Hell knew it. Even the imps that spent most of their time flying in circles around his head and cackling out their desire for death and destruction were cowed, and they were the least intelligent of the demons. If the demon had cared to look to either side of his dais he would have seen the reddish-black creatures slinking along the walls.

It was common knowledge that a scant six weeks before he had been in the midst of bringing his long-awaited plans to fruition. He had enlisted the aid of the dreadful Seer, a powerful demon in its own right, and sent its protégé to the mortal realm. Shadow, the dark mist-creature, had managed to penetrate Ma Junior's mental defenses and lodged himself in the brat's mind. He had even fought the boy for control of his body and won. Ma Junior had been suppressed, and with the power the demon was able to awaken he should have been unstoppable.

What had gone wrong?

It should have been a win-win situation for Daimao, had everything gone according to his original plan. Either Son Goku would have been dead and Ma Junior victorious, thus allowing the opening of the gates into Hell, or the brat would have died, in which case he would have had someone new to torture. But instead, Shadow had been thrown out and destroyed, and both the brat and the Saiyan had survived.

The Demon Lord growled, and the nearest reptilians flinched away from him. He gripped the arms of his throne hard enough that they shifted under the pressure. He paid it no heed, and only when the plated bones began to creak loudly beneath his fingers did he release the chair.

It was a handsome throne by his standards, crafted by Arachi smiths as a gift to honor their master and lord. It was similar to the throne he'd had back on Earth, before he had begun his mad rampage across the world. It was made of bone, taken exclusively from the demons he had killed during his ascent to power. The back rest in particular was the hewn-off spine of a wyvern, left coarse where the ribs had been broken to form a rounded support. The arms of the seat were taken from the same wyvern's massive legs. And adorning the top of the throne were the wing-claws of his first three kills, the previous inhabitants of the cavern. Daimao reminded himself constantly that he _did_ ask them nicely, at first, to leave. When the trio refused, he slaughtered them and raised his fortress. Two of their skulls capped the arms of his throne. The third (and at this memory he smirked) had been too damaged for even the Arachi to salvage.

"Calm down," he reprimanded himself. "There will be time enough later for destruction."

Almost as if on cue, the passage beyond the throne room rippled with energy. A low, nearly inaudible hum resounded through the room. Two or three of the reptilians made as if they would engage whatever came through the doorway, but Daimao chuckled and waved them back. _It's about time,_ he thought smugly.

From the center of the warp opened a portal, and through the gateway stepped the Seer. No sooner than its wings and tail left the hole did it contract back in upon itself and disappear. The demon's eyes glowed brightly for an instant as it sealed the personal portal against anyone or anything that might try to make use of it. Then the dark creature shook its head in disgust and proceeded to stalk toward Daimao, folding its wings along its back as it did so. It did not fail to notice how its reputation had preceded it.

Each reptilian it passed quailed before it.

The Seer stopped before the dais and folded its arms across its chest. It regarded the smirking demon lord coolly before speaking, and when it did all eyes in the room settled upon its intimidating form. "I trust this summons was not merely for your amusement?" it said blandly.

Daimao raised one eye ridge in mock surprise. "Where would you get an idea like that? I only need to speak with you about my son and his latest exploits."

"And the last time it was discussed, you nearly tore my cavern down around me."

The green demon waved one hand dismissively. "If you had chosen a better place to raise your hut, that would not have happened. Cracks to the Furnace and imp-breeding paradise notwithstanding, there were other places." He curled his lips back in thinly-veiled disgust. It was a well-known fact that Daimao felt little love for imps, and every chance he had to kill the pests he took.

"I was here long before your egg was even formed, Daimao. Remember."

The demon lord frowned. "If I did not need your help in realizing my plan, Seer, I would have your head separated from your shoulders and brought to me on a silver platter for such a comment. I've killed for less."

The Seer blinked in response and shifted its weight to one leg. "My apologies, Demon Lord," it replied evenly.

"See that it does not happen again," Daimao grumbled. "I have no desire to replace you when I am this close to fulfilling my goal. Now leave," he added, addressing his "guards". He flicked his fingers in distaste at the reptilians, all of whom scrambled over each other in their haste to leave the elder demon's presence. The Seer followed the pale green beasts with its own luminous eyes, until they tumbled out of sight down the hall. And even then both demons monitored their flight by the scuffling of their feet and the faint clicking of claws on tile.

When nothing more could be heard, even by Daimao's sharp ears, the demon lord leaned back on his throne and clasped his hands together in his lap. "Now, then," he began slowly, "tell me what you saw."

The Seer gawked at the abrupt change in the other demon's mood. _He seems almost…congenial!_ it thought. The dark demon tried to gather its flustered thoughts and lump them into one large knot…which seemed to be growing more tangled the more its mind raced. _What is he up to?_

Daimao chuckled at the fleeting confusion on the Seer's face. "I know what you did, and I know something of what Ma Junior did. But even so, hearing your firsthand account will help me greatly. The boy seems to be coming along nicely…it's a shame I'll have to kill him. But for your story…"

The Demon Lord might have been known for his temper and lack of patience, and though he had given the Seer no reason for suspicion, his unexpectedly cordial behavior had confounded it. It knew how uncharacteristic such an action was for him. But even so, the Seer pushed aside its reservations and began to speak, knowing now beyond a doubt that this most recent of exploits would be the event that put Daimao's plan into motion.

And when the Demon Lord's goal was reached and Hell-On-Earth established, the mortal realm would be doomed to a fiery end.

* * *

Well, it's been less than two months. And it was almost even less than that, too…if I hadn't left my floppy disk in my computer when I went home. Gah. Depending on how I feel this chapter has turned out, I may or may not rewrite part of its ending. So if you reread it and something seems different, chances are it is.

I'd bother you to leave a review, but I have a mound of homework to finish and it's already midnight. I'll just have to take a rain check on that. 'Til next chapter – thanks for reading!

-Dreamwraith


	7. Chapter Seven

**Disclaimer:** I own the demons' Hell, the Seer, and any of the miscellaneous demons I come up with. Canon characters are Toriyama's brainchildren, not mine.

* * *

**Chapter Seven**

The sound of Bulma's voice brought the Namek back to reality, wincing and cursing. He hadn't been paying much attention to her after he had found himself able to focus his eyes once more. So much was flying through his head… Small wonder he wasn't thinking straight. He wished he could tune her out again.

" – sure you're all right, Piccolo?" he heard the woman ask.

"I _will_ be if you stop _asking_ me!" he hissed. _How many times is she going to ask before it sinks into her thick blue skull?_ he thought in exasperation.

"All right, all right!" Bulma exclaimed, ducking her head and throwing both hands into the air. "Don't get all bent out of shape! I was just asking you a question."

Rather than glaring at Bulma, Piccolo forced his attention down the hall, following the path of the force bubble with his eyes instead. Every window along the once-pristine corridor was shattered and lying haphazardly all over the tiled floor. The paneling around the supply cart was destroyed, and from the way cracks ripped through the walls on either side of the site he figured there must have been a lot of force behind the magical backlash. Someone must have desperately wanted to speak with him.

_Why now, of all times?_ he wondered while contemplating the destruction. _Has he decided to move at last? But what would have prompted it?_ Piccolo shook his head in both disgust and frustration. _This place is too loud, too public, and too bright. Any demon worth its salt would've known it's a bad setting. What possessed him to do it?_

And he wondered, deep down in his soul, whether or not it was something _he_ had done that had allowed the creature's presence here.

Bulma watched his face contort, though its expression remained carefully schooled. _What are you thinking?_ she wanted to ask him. _What plagues you that you must keep that mask of yours up every waking moment?_ The woman couldn't begin to imagine the severity of the emotion or problem that had taken hold of the Namek's mind, and she was keenly aware of that fact. It was common knowledge that if Piccolo didn't want you to know what he was thinking, you would not find out. It was as simple as that. Not even Gohan could penetrate Piccolo's defenses when they were erected and braced, and the boy was linked to him. _Talk to us, man!_ she wanted to scream while shaking him. _Remember what happened the last time you shut the door on us, would you?_

Then Bulma blinked. Good Kami, she was starting to sound like she was a close friend of his. Impossible! There was no way on earth she would even _consider_ involving herself that closely with the Namek. It was bad enough that most of her friends were on a level just above "acquaintance" and just below "friend" with him. Still staring at Piccolo, she pressed one hand to her forehead and sighed. _Stress_, she thought hurriedly, as if to convince herself of the truth of her half-baked excuse._ It has to be job stress. I _refuse_ to be a close and personal friend of Mister Tall, Green, and Grumpy._ The hand dropped from the woman's brow when Piccolo ceased to pay attention to the walls and instead glared at the floor.

It was a long time before either of them spoke up, and it was Bulma who broke the silence. She peered up at the Namek quizzically and cocked her head to the side. "You going to get that glass out of your hand before it gets infected?" she asked. She wondered idly how he would respond and whether or not she should have prepared her will in advance.

Piccolo lifted his head in surprise and regarded her much as he would a three-headed snake. "Or maybe not," she added weakly, lowering her face away from his intense stare.

She felt an uncomfortable silence build up between them…but wasn't everything about him always on edge? Whether it was his aura or his intense gaze, he had a habit of unnerving those unfortunate enough to merit his attention.

Piccolo was not unaware of this silence, but he made no immediate move to break it. He knew Bulma was uneasy. He knew he was the cause of it. And he could not care less. He was not here, in the hallway outside of her laboratory, to acquaint himself with her. It was strictly a business trip, so to speak, and he hadn't counted on dealing with more than one party. All he had wanted was the damned liquid identified, and he'd ended up with a fist full of glass, a pounding headache, and more problems than he could handle alone.

The woman _did_ have a point, though. The shards in his hand would need to be removed.

The Namek scowled. After that brief time he'd spent on his home world, Namek, Earth was beginning to wear on him. Now more than ever, especially since there was a chance his sire's reach could not extend into the stars beyond Earth. _Humph._ His yearning for the foreign planet of his people had been fueled rather than smothered; the few hours he had spent on Namek had made him feel more welcome and more at peace with himself than all his time on Earth. Feh. Perhaps he could ask King Kai to contact the new Elder on his behalf and arrange for a trip to the new Namekian homeland. At the very least, there would be no distractions.

Ah, but could he leave Gohan for that much time?

Perhaps he would be more accurate in admitting that it was the people who _lived_ on Earth that grated on him, rather than the planet itself. He supposed it could have been a nice place to live if there were fewer residents. Say, half the current number. And more isolated, barren environs. His Namekian self might have wanted peace and quiet, but it was the demon in him that longed for destruction and violence. It shrieked for blood and beat at his ribcage while he meditated, and more than once he found it necessary to cease and desist or risk Goku dropping in on him for fear of another Shadow incident.

Piccolo reminded himself that in the recent past, he would not have minded being the one to create this world of carnage and tears. Namekian blood might have given him the ability to meditate, but it was the demon that gave him his fighting prowess and his thirst for victory, and he would not have been surprised to learn of more abilities his demonic heritage had bestowed upon him.

When his subconscious mind registered another strong _ki_ nearby, Piccolo cursed. Had he truly been so absorbed in his own thoughts that he had missed the newcomer's arrival? Or had the other warrior hidden his _ki_ from detection? Well, he supposed, he would find out soon enough. Now if he could pinpoint the _ki_-user's location…

"What the _hell_ is going on in here?" a loud, male voice demanded, the echo of that voice accompanied by the soft clicking of stiff soles against tile. Piccolo flinched – about as close as he would dare come to jumping in surprise – and wondered how he could have missed that racket. The raucous noise tore into his thoughts and scattered them. The Namek growled softly in reflex.

The intrusion wasn't altogether unexpected, but it was unwelcome.

Piccolo felt the confusion of the past few hours in the compound melt away and a more familiar sensation take its place. It nestled itself down in his muscles and dug in, heating and straining what was already at the breaking point. With a grunt he turned to face the newcomer. Distantly he heard himself say, "Don't you have anything better to do with yourself?" His voice might have been cold and strained, but behind his eyes his smoldering temper began to stir.

The clicking stopped.

There was a hush, in which even Piccolo's sensitive ears could detect no sound, and then the other man began to chuckle. "I don't need to explain myself to the likes of you, Namek, or to anyone else," he scoffed. "You're not worth my time."

Piccolo mentally rolled his eyes. He truly disliked Vegeta. Not hated, because _hate_ was too strong a word for the displeasure he felt in the prince's company and an emotion more often equated with both Son Goku and his own sire. _Disliked_ was a more fitting term. And he was certain the feeling was mutual. He quirked one brow up at the man. "Then you just happened to be walking around the building," he stated more than asked.

Again, that smirk. "I go where I please, Namek."

The faint stink of salt and sweat gone sour told Piccolo otherwise. "Seems to me like you've spent too much time in that gravity chamber of yours," he observed. "You reek of exertion. Too coincidental for a mere walk through the labs."

Vegeta's smirk faded under Piccolo's smug expression only to be replaced by a menacing glare. "Mind your own business, Namek, before I have to finish what I started months ago." There was no hint of humor in his snarl.

Piccolo narrowed his eyes to slits in response, and his voice lowered an octave. "That a challenge, Saiyan?"

"Not in here, you don't!" Bulma interjected quickly. She stepped forward – gulping, of course, because either man could tear her head from her shoulders without a thought – and interposed her fragile human body between them. "There's already been enough damage in here with that _thing_. You don't want to bring the whole place down around your heads!" _Great one, Bulma,_ she thought crazily, _encourage their behavior while you're at it! I'm sure they'll _love_ that!_

But instead of bursting through her ceiling with a flare of _ki_, Vegeta scoffed at her. "Woman, the Namek can mess up your labs on his own, apparently, as he's already shown you. He should be old enough to handle himself." The Saiyan sent Piccolo an outrageous, over-exaggerated wink before smirking at the scientist, and he sneered despite himself. Vegeta had his own agenda, and he could leave him out of it!

"And speaking of which," and here Vegeta turned his attention back to Piccolo, "we have a little _score_ to settle, don't we, Namek?"

Piccolo raised one eye ridge and ignored the venom in the Saiyan prince's voice. Vegeta had suffered an embarrassing defeat at his – or should he say, Shadow's – hands. Worse than that, his pride had taken a heavy blow, and he could tell just by looking at Vegeta that the Saiyan had not yet recovered from it.

_It's high time you died anyway,_ Shadow had told Vegeta while standing in Son Goku's yard._ You've been obsolete for the last twenty or so years, haven't you? Since Frieza took you from your holding cell and declared you useless before his ship and crew?_

_How did you know that, Namek?_ Vegeta had demanded.

_I know everything about you, _the demon had gleefully replied._ How you would cry yourself to sleep for years, until Frieza caught you. You can still see the blood in your eyes at night, can't you, Vegeta?_

_Perhaps your race is worth mentioning after all, seeing as how it was their own foolishness that brought their fiery death down upon their heads. They make a good example. But they went down fighting, at least, a warrior's death. But you, you had none of it. You were not fit to join their final battle, oh powerful prince. You sat in the safety of Frieza's ship while your people screamed in pain. You are nothing more than a pampered house-pet. You have done nothing to deserve what you have been given._

_Leave and let the real warriors fight._

Feh, Piccolo thought. He had had a rough, thankless childhood himself – not quite like Vegeta's, but similar enough for a fair comparison. Neither had been loved. Neither had been wanted, unless it was for their fighting prowess and violent nature. Both were pawns in games that spiraled far beyond them and traced back several decades. Both had been discarded and branded "flawed". And both sought revenge for it.

In this Piccolo could see eye-to-eye with the Saiyan, so to speak.

Vegeta had been wounded in more ways than one during the battle with Shadow. His carefully-built façade had been stripped away from him in seconds by a creature far older and far crueler than he could have ever hoped to be. He had been exposed; his pride had taken a hard fall onto jagged rocks…and before the humans, no less. He'd been ridiculed, beaten, and surpassed.

What frenzy did the man work himself into when he learned that a _mere Namek_ was stronger than the last surviving members of the universe's strongest warrior race?

The more Piccolo thought about it, the more he came to realize that most of Vegeta's attitude at this point was bluster…and he wasn't surprised. The Saiyan wanted to humiliate him more than he wanted to kill him. Death was reserved for 'Kakarot', not 'Ma Junior'. Piccolo supposed it was only fair; after he had died saving Gohan, he had wanted revenge on the two Saiyans so badly it had interfered with his meditation on the North Kai's planet, and the Kai had told him personally to take his attitude elsewhere or he'd be forced to teach him a lesson in manners (at which Piccolo had snorted and walked away). He expected no less of the Saiyan.

Then Piccolo gave himself a mental shake. Since when was he concerned with Vegeta, anyway? This was becoming a bad habit!

"Namek, I'm waiting," Vegeta impatiently reminded him.

Piccolo grunted and, with a growl, gave in. "Fine, Vegeta. You want a spar? You've got one. Now back off and let me finish my business here." The Namek looked away from the Saiyan and turned his attention instead to Bulma. He inclined his head in the direction from which they had come. If the scientist was inconvenienced by his suggestion, she would have to deal with it herself. He wanted to leave this place as soon as possible. There was something about the space the small portal had occupied that he did not like. The weak aura cast off by the creature in the shadows still lingered, and, Demon King or not, it made him uneasy. Piccolo stepped back and wondered if the woman would understand what he was doing or if he would need to spell it out for her.

It did not help that Goku's _ki_ had just settled somewhere outside the complex, and he would rather the Saiyan not tear through the walls looking for him. Good Kami, didn't the man have anything better to do with his time than wait for him to slip up?

Bulma picked up on his discomfort and nodded wordlessly.

The Namek whipped around and began walking away. With a questioning glance cast in Vegeta's direction, Bulma turned and fell into step with him, dogging his heels. The few technicians brave – or foolish – enough to have trailed their research director to the scene of the accident leaped out of their way. Anyone with that purposeful of a stride would not be deterred from trampling any unfortunates in their path.

Bulma might have been satisfied, but Vegeta was not so easily placated.

The Saiyan prince drew himself up to his full height and stomped past the blue-haired woman, ignoring her indignant squawk as she was roughly twisted aside, to come to a standstill beside Piccolo. He reached out one hand and fisted it in the Namek's cloak, effectively halting his flight – for that was what it was, Vegeta figured. Whatever had happened had seriously rattled the other man's composure, and he was fleeing the scene before he broke down completely.

Vegeta tightened his grip on the flowing material and swung around to face the Namek. With his free hand he seized the front of his cape and wrenched it down, intent on dragging the taller alien down to face level. "Now listen to me, _Namek,_" he began to say, a snarl building in his throat and _ki_ bubbling to the surface of his skin.

Then the hall spun crazily around him, and a stifled scream almost drowned out the blood roaring in his ears. It took him several seconds to realize that the shout had come from Bulma, and a little longer before he noticed he was no longer standing on tile but dangling in the air. _What the hell?_ he thought, confused.

A green blur filled his vision, and Vegeta struggled to focus his eyes on it. It growled at him. The sound was so full of menace he would have whimpered had he been any other man. "You will listen to _me,_ Saiyan," it demanded. "I must not have made myself clear enough. I told you to back off and let me finish…is it that hard for you to comprehend?"

_Piccolo would dare…?_ Vegeta's mind reeled.

The Saiyan caught a glimpse of the green warrior's eyes and recoiled immediately. They blazed with an unearthly power, bright with his own _ki_ and with a power that went much deeper than the surface Vegeta had so roughly scratched. Behind it all he caught the impression of something far more malevolent and cold, and he felt a chill run down his spine. He did _not_ want to be reminded of his last encounter with a true demon. _But those eyes…_

He _hoped_ it was merely an impression he had received, for anything more than that would not bode well for himself (and for the Earthlings, he supposed, but what did he care if they bore the brunt of the Namek's ill-will?).

Vegeta hit the floor with a _thunk_, and he found himself unceremoniously sprawled before the irate Namek. His vision cleared, and when he inhaled he learned why; Piccolo had lifted him bodily off his feet by his throat, and in his surprise he hadn't lifted so much as a finger against him. He rubbed his bruised and scratched – _scratched?_ – throat and ignored Bulma's whimpering as she scampered past him. His neck stung terribly, and when Vegeta pulled his hand away from his throat it was smeared with blood. _How dare he?_ he seethed inwardly, staring at the bright streaks. _He's just a Namek! A Namek!_

But for all his bluster and rage, Vegeta knew he was wrong. Though he could hardly admit it to himself, Piccolo had ceased to be 'just a Namek' when he defeated the Saiyan hybrids, both of whom were substantially stronger than him. The events of the past few moments confirmed it again. Ordinary Nameks simply were not contacted by denizens of the underworld for snatches of conversation. It was easy for him to forget the Namek was considered a demon as well, even if he had the abilities to prove it.

Piccolo and Bulma disappeared around a bend, leaving him alone on the floor and with his thoughts.

He smirked nonetheless. Piccolo would not go back on his word. They would have their little 'spar' some time today, even if he had to hunt the Namek down and beat one out of him.

Now, if only he could find out what the Namek had scratched his neck up with…

* * *

Piccolo allowed himself a grim smile. The woman must have been frightened out of her wits during and following his and Vegeta's display, and he imagined that after showing him the way to the door she had sprinted off somewhere so she could have her breakdown in peace. She must be prone to nervous attacks, that woman. She blew everything out of proportion. Hell, she had apparently called out the cavalry when she found him on the floor amidst the ruins of her hall: first Vegeta had appeared, and now Goku. Gohan had not responded to the summons, but Piccolo could feel the boy's agitation in both his mind and his _ki_.

_Humans,_ he thought with some distaste. _They overreact to the slightest problems._

As Piccolo reached for the doorknob he faintly heard Goku calling his name. The sound of it triggered something in the back of his mind, a reminder of something he needed to do before he departed. Now what was…ah, that was it. He pulled his hand away and frowned at the blood beading up around the glass still imbedded there. He sighed. _I should probably remove this before I give the fool something else to worry about,_ he thought, and he proceeded to extract the shards from his hand.

_It would be just my luck that he would…_

Later, Piccolo would curse himself for tempting the fates and expecting to come out unscathed. As if in response, the handle turned and the door opened before his dumbfounded eyes. The figure in the doorway was no less astonished when it found the Namek digging chunks of glass out of his hand.

"_Piccolo!_" Goku exclaimed, staring at the Namek's bloodied hand. "What _happened_ to you?"

In reply, Piccolo favored Goku with a dirty look (_I should have known this would happen, _he thought sourly) and prepared himself for a rather lengthy explanation.

* * *

I do apologize for taking so long to update, but my grades are the better for it. I appreciate you sticking with this.

-Dreamwraith


	8. Chapter Eight

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Dragonball Z. I make no profit off this story, nor do I intend to. I claim rights only to my own creations that interact with canon characters. (Good enough?)

* * *

**Chapter Eight**

Not knowing what it was, Gohan had felt Piccolo's _ki_ spike when he shattered the mirror and had reacted as any other young warrior would; the book he had been reading was dropped from nerveless fingers as he bolted upright in his chair. Homework always took second place to Piccolo, even if his mother threatened him with her kitchenware. Gohan could tell whenever something happened to Piccolo, and there was definitely something happening to him now.

The boy willed his breathing to slow and his mind to stop racing. "Focus, Gohan!" he sternly told himself. "You won't be of any help if you start panicking!" He extended his senses and his _ki_ out with the confidence of a warrior born to it and homed in on the Namek's location. "Capsule Corp.?" he exclaimed incredulously, blinking slowly as if to emphasize his shock. "Why would Piccolo be at the Capsule Corp.? He doesn't even _like_ people, and that place is crawling with'em!"

After a moment, Gohan decided Piccolo was in no danger, but he remained alert and ready to fly to his mentor's rescue. He was anxious enough that, when the telephone rang, he was halfway down the stairs and en route for interception before the first ring had been completed. How he knew it was about Piccolo, he was not certain – though if asked, he would have replied that it was part of their bond.

As luck would have it, Chi-Chi had the phone already cradled on her shoulder by the time Gohan burst into the living room.

"Son residence, Son Chi-Chi speaking," the woman said by way of greeting.

Gohan stopped suddenly enough that his shoes screeched against the floor. He made a mental note to ask his mother if he could have a phone for his room.

Chi-Chi continued her conversation with only a nod to acknowledge her son's presence. She slowly faced the wall, resuming her dusting as she did so. "Yes, this is… He's outside. Why do you need him? …No, I didn't." Then Chi-Chi's eyes widened, and Gohan felt his pounding heart skip a beat. "He did _what?_" This she shouted into the receiver, and the boy almost felt sorry for the person on the other end of the line. "No, no, I'll send him right over… I certainly agree. Bulma had good sense for once… Yes, thank you. Goodbye!" The telephone nearly slipped from her grasp when she lowered it to its cradle, and Gohan steeled himself for the inevitable.

The inevitable wasn't quite what he had been expecting, though, when his mother finally called to him. "Gohan," she said in a softly trembling voice, "go get your father. Hurry."

The boy scurried off to do his mother's bidding with quaking knees and a heavy sense of dread hanging over his head. It wasn't so much the call that disturbed him so, but the tidings it must have brought. They could not have been good. One look at Chi-Chi's pale face and shaking hands told him that. And he found himself praying to Kami that whatever it was, it would be resolved quickly and seamlessly.

In his haste, Gohan nearly tore their front door off its new hinges. _As if Shadow hadn't damaged it enough,_ he thought with a grimace, recalling the skirmish the demon had brought into their home. By the time the boy and his mother had been dragged from the house, there were holes in the ceiling and walls and the door had been ripped away from its frame and discarded as though it were trash.

Finding his father was the easy part of his task. Goku had been halfway up one of the apple trees with a bushel basket. Explaining the situation was a bit harder, and more than once the man's eyebrows furrowed. Trying to convince him not to beeline for Capsule Corp. was nearly impossible, though, and Gohan scrambled wildly out of Goku's way as the older Saiyan leaped from the tree and dashed off in Chi-Chi's direction to hear whatever bad tidings the telephone had brought.

* * *

Goku could still see Gohan's wide, concerned eyes even now, as Piccolo finished explaining the events of the morning to him. He could hardly tear his own eyes from the Namek's hand and the gouges there. Piccolo had been very blunt with his explanation and had made no effort to pad the facts: he had been contacted by a denizen of the underworld and had caused a violent backlash when its communication spell was shattered. The glass shards in his hand were evidence enough for that.

Nonetheless, this late in the game – so to speak – Goku knew Piccolo was concealing some part of the story, something only he would know about unless Kami saw fit to enlighten everyone else. Experience told him the guardian would remain silent, however, unless the secret Piccolo was keeping would endanger the planet or – Kais forbid – the heavens.

"It wasn't Daimao," Piccolo finished saying, "so there is no need for you to concern yourself with it."

Goku shot the man an uncharacteristic scowl. "You're kidding, right?"

Piccolo returned the scowl. "Do I look like I 'kid'?"

The Saiyan begged Kami to grant him patience. "Look, Piccolo," he said after a moment of silence, "doesn't this seem awfully familiar to you? Some minor event, that turns out to be something a lot bigger than you thought it was? Like that ball incident with Baba? Or how about your lapse in the kitchen? Do you think I shouldn't have concerned myself with those?" When he finished, he was nearly shouting, and he had to take several deep breaths to calm down. Being faced with Piccolo's startled but indignant glare didn't help. Kami, but the Namek brought out the worst in him sometimes!

_That_ thought stopped Goku cold, and he must have been staring at Piccolo because the Namek cleared his throat to catch his attention. Goku opened his mouth, but his mind raced ahead of him and whatever he had been about to say was lost. _Huh,_ he thought. _I never thought about that before. If Daimao had made him to kill me, wouldn't he have made him to be an anti-me? Could it be just a coincidence that Piccolo is able to get to me when not even Vegeta can? Kami, I wish I had thought about this sooner!_

"Think you can stare at something else for a while?" Piccolo growled uncomfortably.

"Oh. Sure."

Piccolo dropped his affectations and gawked at the man. How could he go from yelling to such an offhand reply? Even if Daimao had had a hand in the morning's events, there wouldn't be a thing Goku could do about it. The Saiyan had no way of accessing that realm unless he went through Piccolo himself, and he was not about to try. He was not afraid of what lurked just beyond the veil of the physical realm, but he had no desire to discover if he could break through it and enter into Hell as the heir to the Demon Lord's throne.

It was a sobering reflection, and both men found themselves frowning at each other. The silence between them was uncomfortable in Goku's eyes, though, and he found himself speaking up again to fill it. "So," the Saiyan began awkwardly, "what did Vegeta want, anyway?"

_Kami, _Piccolo seethed, _can't the man ever keep quiet?_ He had been expecting any one of a number of comments regarding fighting techniques and possible news from Kami rather than something regarding _Vegeta_, of all people, and it bothered him. "He wanted to make sure I didn't regress into something more…unpleasant," he ground out. "We agreed to a spar."

Goku looked, and sounded, suspicious. "Agreed?"

"To a spar."

"A spar."

"Unless 'spar' suddenly became a synonym for 'bloodbath', yes."

"Is that all?"

Piccolo rolled his eyes and refrained from reaching out and throttling the other man. "Good Kami, Goku, yes! We agreed to a _simple spar_. No one will die, no one will lose control, and no one will blow anything up."

"Do you think he'd mind if Gohan and I joined you?"

_Of all the roundabout ways he could have taken to get to it…_ Piccolo didn't even bother to answer. He merely grunted in annoyance – and assent, Goku figured – and pushed the Saiyan out of his way and into the wall so he could leave.

"Later, Piccolo!" Goku exclaimed gleefully, freeing one hand from the crumbling plaster and concrete to wave at the departing warrior.

The Namek did not have to turn around for Goku to know he had rolled his eyes at him and was cursing his name in at least two languages. The stiffness in the lines of his body as he took to the sky was evidence enough for it. _I think I'm going to need to work on that blurring technique again,_ he thought.

Then the man leaned forward and, with his free arm, began prying himself out of the wall.

* * *

_Of all the infernal fools on this planet, I had to be tangled up with Son Goku and his pest squadron!_ Piccolo seethed. _It would have been easier to let him die on Namek! I should have let Frieza blast him _both_ of those times, or let the idiot drown after his Genki-dama. Hell, I could have stood off to one side and laughed while the hybrids finished him off!_ His _ki_ surged in response to his rising temper, and if he had given it thought he would have realized he would be sending the human warriors into another panic. At this point, however, he could have cared less. Rage as he might, he wasn't upset with Goku. Foolish though he might act, the Saiyan was surprisingly intelligent. Piccolo would not have been surprised to learn that Goku only acted childish around the people he was most comfortable with.

Which, apparently, included Piccolo.

Piccolo cursed again. _What did I do to deserve this?_ he thought.

As he drew closer to his waterfall, he felt the pressing thoughts in his mind lighten, and he sighed. He probably would have turned out "just fine" and in accordance with Daimao's wishes if Goku had not shown him mercy at the Tenka'ichi Budokai. _Mercy._ It had been a foreign concept to him until that point, until he had glared fearlessly into the eyes of his would-be murderers and saw nothing but compassion and pity in the eyes of the Saiyan. Goku had given him a senzu bean and allowed him to heal, saying he wanted to keep his nemesis.

"And that's where it started," Piccolo muttered to himself.

He crested the treetops after a few minutes and began his descent. He could already see the spray shooting up from the base of the waterfall, a familiar and welcoming sight indeed. The sun had almost reached its zenith and therefore would have warmed the water to a pleasant temperature, if he decided he wanted to swim later on. Kami knew he'd be bloody after sparring with three Saiyans – one ascended and two on the verge of ascending – and he would rather not spend the rest of his day splattered with varying shades of red and violet.

He made a note to himself to take a long, refreshing swim that evening.

Piccolo landed in a crouch on the bank of the river below the waterfall, his cloak fluttering down behind him. "It's hard to believe how much has happened in only one day," he told himself as he stood. Then he snorted. "It's even harder to believe I'm going back for another round of sparring with Goku. The man must not have anything better to do with his time than to spend it injuring himself."

He focused his _ki_ and his mind and, with a guttural sound that was more growl than groan, split himself in two. He almost welcomed the brief clouding of his mind as it reorganized itself around two bodies, and he allowed himself only an instant of disorientation before he shook himself out of it. Piccolo focused his eyes on the first thing he saw, the grinning face of his double, and grimaced.

"Care to warm up first?" the double asked, still grinning. "You know you're still a bit sore after both of your fiascos."

"Feh," Piccolo spat, cracking his knuckles as he did so. "You're not much better. So cut the bantering and start fighting!"

"The pleasure's mine," came the reply.

In unison, the two Nameks lifted off the ground and followed the river downstream for a few miles, putting some distance between themselves and the waterfall. No sense in destroying it, they both thought. They stopped and faced each other above the lake the river emptied into. The two Nameks smirked and, with that as a signal, vanished.

Linked as they were, neither Piccolo could have easily said which one of them lunged for the other first, or which one drew first blood. They were one in the same, one mind temporarily in two bodies. Each knew the other's weaknesses and strengths. Each could anticipate the other's every move and act to counter it. Thus the spar became a game of strategy, of seeing which of the two could outsmart the other, the original or the clone.

But then again, what bystander could say which of the two the original was?

The sky was set ablaze with _ki_ from the sparring Nameks.

Two fists met with a bright flash of light, a knee was caught in a waiting hand. A forearm caught the foot aimed for a head. A back arched to bring both knees up and into an unprotected abdomen. Twin spirals of blazing _ki_ surged toward each other and collided with a roar greater than any peal of thunder. Each volley was fierce; neither one wished to submit to the other. One warrior began gathering his _ki_ to him, and the other took the opportunity to dart forward and sink his fist into his gut. Explosions rocked the land and flung trees and rocks alike a fair distance away, scattering them like so much debris before a violent storm.

It was a testament to Piccolo's endurance that his strength did not begin to flag until the sun had already passed its zenith and was beginning its way down. The Saiyans would have finished their meals by now and would be warming up and stretching outside their homes. He would need only a short break before he could function at a level on par with theirs, and a brief swim would suit him just fine.

Piccolo alighted upon an uprooted tree and smugly watched his double sink to his knees and signal defeat. _Now, which one of us needed that warm-up?_ he thought to the other Namek. He would not have admitted he couldn't speak any other way at that particular moment, as he was surprisingly out of breath. _Didn't think I was _that_ rough,_ he added quietly to himself.

The other Namek glared at him and tried unsuccessfully to control his panting. _You did. I did. We did. Take your pick. It doesn't matter. You'll be feeling it, too, in a minute._

Piccolo angled his head slightly, as if straining to hear a tune on the wind, and humphed. "Time's up," he admitted. Rejoining with his double was the one part of his self-sparring regimen that he did not like.

"Finally." With that, the double rose to his feet with unexpected grace and leaped at Piccolo once more, this time squarely aligning himself with the other Namek's shoulders. Just as it seemed he would land and knock the warrior to the ground, he melted into the other's body and vanished.

Blinding lights seemed to explode in the remaining Namek's mind, and he bowed his head as if to ward them off. The disorientation accompanying the rejoining would not last long, but it was uncomfortable, and there was no way of speeding up the process.

After some time, the lights faded, and he was left staring at a blur of blue and green.

Piccolo blinked several times, and his vision cleared. He groaned while rising from the half-crouch he had been forced to sink into. Taking on the mass of the other warrior after a grueling session was never easy; often it felt like having something dense tearing into his shoulders and back, especially if both he and his double were too drained to pay much attention to how they were merging. He had been lucky this time…it hadn't hurt too much. Only enough to elicit a groan.

Now, about that waterfall…

Piccolo found himself standing at the base of the waterfall with a faint grin on his face scant minutes later, bruises and all. He was not one to smile at much, but the prospect of stretching his cramping body without having to support his own weight was enough to draw the grin to his lips without much effort. His cloak and turban were discarded quickly at the tree line, followed by his shirt and shoes. He did, however, leave his pants on; Kami knew the _instant_ he removed them the Saiyans would all appear at once, and he had no desire to even _think_ of being caught in that situation.

The dark fabric clung to his legs as he waded in and ducked under the water. He dove down and swam along the bottom of the river, following the ripples of light along the rocks until he reached the thunderous point of contact between the falling water and the river itself. The water was shallow enough there that, when he surfaced, it barely reached his waist.

The Namek was able to spend a few quiet, content minutes beneath the pounding waterfall, easing the tension in his shoulders, back, and neck, before he felt three _ki_s heading for him from two directions. "It figures," he grumbled half-heartedly. "The minute I start to relax, the monkey squad comes out to play." Then Piccolo smirked. By now, Vegeta would have sensed the other two _ki_ signatures, and he would be cursing up and down that he would have to "share" him with them.

Served him right, the arrogant fool.

The Namek lifted himself from the water and dried himself with _ki_ as he did so, materializing a new shirt and shoes as well. The rest he could come back for later. He flew up the length of the waterfall to greet – or what passed as greeting for him – the three Saiyans, who were just now coming into sight.

So intent on it was he, in fact, that he did not even notice the two long, spidery arms that reached out from behind the veil of falling water and snatched at his legs…dark, lean arms that retreated into the shadows once their owner realized its chance to pull the estranged demon into its grasp had passed.

* * *

No, I am not dead, and no, I am not giving up on this. However, I will say the same thing here that I did with my Yamcha fic: due to the onset of my thesis work, the best chance you have of catching updates on this is to put it on your alert list. My time is limited and, sadly, most of it is going into that. I will be trying to work on it more frequently, but I can't guarantee a date for the next chapter.

Thank you for reading!

-Dreamwraith


	9. Chapter Nine

**Disclaimer:** I own my tale. I do not own the DB universe or its characters.

* * *

**Chapter Nine**

_North Quadrant, Planet Earth: Son residence  
_Two weeks later

Gohan lifted his head from the impact crater he had made and spat out a mouthful of dirt. He sat up gingerly, feeling both of his knees for bruises. This was _not_ going well, he decided sourly. This was the third time today his father had swatted him from the sky, and he had yet to land a hit on him. At this point, he was willing to forego dinner for the next week if it meant he could draw that much closer to ascending.

His desire to ascend and become a Super Saiyan had grown beyond his almost-obsessive urge to protect. Gohan would have been willing to say it was finally the warrior in his blood awakening, but he wouldn't have been telling the whole truth. When that thought crossed his mind, he would whisper to himself, _Piccolo needs me_. Touching, yes. Logical, no. Piccolo would never have asked for Gohan's help with something so personal.

Still, it was his reason for wanting so badly to ascend, and more than once it stopped him from quitting his self-imposed 'training'.

And it was because of the possibility of trouble looming on the horizon that Gohan found himself kissing the ground.

The boy stood up and sighed, sending a silent entreaty to his father to back down for a moment. The older Saiyan must have sensed something amiss, for when Gohan glanced up at the other fighter he had descended nearly to the ground. When he was a comfortable height from the crater, Goku released his hold on his _ki_ and dropped down beside him. "You all right, Gohan?" he asked, resting one hand on Gohan's shoulder.

Gohan was suddenly entranced with the dirt around his feet. He mumbled something to the ground.

Goku knelt down in the dirt, paying no attention to the condition of his pants, and tipped Gohan's chin up with his other hand. "What was that, son?"

"It's not working, I said."

Goku blinked. "Sure, it is. You need to give it some time, you know. And even if you don't ascend right now, you're still loads stronger than I was at your age!"

"No, dad, it's not," Gohan repeated. "I don't feel any of the things you said I should be feeling, and every time I get up to that point, it just disappears!" He squeezed his hands into fists and fought back the urge to cry. _Real_ warriors did not cry because something was out of their reach.

Goku stepped back and looked down at the boy. "That's because you have to let it all out, Gohan," he solemnly told him. "When you let all that despair, all that sadness, all that anger consume you, _that_ is when you can ascend."

"But dad, I can't!" Gohan exclaimed. "I can't do that!" He couldn't find the words to explain that he couldn't just make himself angry, just like that! Rage and desperation might be what unleashed his hidden power, but he didn't know how to consciously tap into it; he suspected it might be the same with this higher level of power.

Goku seemed satisfied with his response, as though he had expected nothing less from the boy. "Then we'll have to find something for you to hate." At Gohan's horrified expression, he chuckled. "It's not what you think," he added. "I meant that you'll need a trigger, something to focus on. One that you've already had reason to hate. That's what I have to do when I spar." Then he frowned. "Lately, with Piccolo, it's hard to remember it's him and not that…thing…we had to destroy."

"I know what you mean, dad," Gohan offered. "It's hard for me, too. Especially when he starts sparring for real."

Goku raised an eyebrow at the boy, and Gohan shrugged. "The whole dark-light-_ki_-aura thing he does. I don't know what else to call it."

Then it was Goku's turn to shrug. He had enough experience with Piccolo's newfound – or was it newly-awakened? – power to know what his son was speaking of. The first incident had been a month and a half ago, during a spar with Gohan and the Namek. Piccolo had begun powering up, and though his _ki_ had been a brilliant, searing white, Goku's mind had screamed 'demon'. Nothing about the aura's color suggested the notion. In fact, it was quite the opposite. Depending on what Piccolo was doing or how much _ki_ he had control over, his aura flickered between blue, violet, and gold. That time, it had been different. It wasn't the color that threw Goku off: it was the impression _behind_ the hue. He had been dead certain that if he had dug his hands into the other man's _ki_ aura, he could have peeled away layers of brilliance and revealed a dark, pulsating core.

Gohan must have sensed the same thing, and Goku must have shouted out the word 'demon', for the boy had panicked and lunged forward, a fully-formed _ki_ ball balanced in one open hand. Piccolo had seen the danger and ducked away from the young demi-Saiyan, but Gohan had not been deterred. In fact, the boy hurled the _ki_ ball at him, followed in rapid succession by a second, a third, and a fourth. He had managed a solid blow to the Namek's face and was forming the fifth when Piccolo loomed up before him and knocked him out with a fist to the side of his head.

That had ended _that_ spar. Piccolo still thought Goku had cried 'demon' on purpose, as a method of ascension for the boy, and nothing the Saiyan could do or say would convince him otherwise.

The second incident had been two weeks ago, near the end of their early-morning spar. It had been just Piccolo and himself then. Goku had just ascended; Piccolo had snarled and, assuming from the way his muscles tensed and then abruptly relaxed, had barely refrained from rushing him. He had almost lost control of his _ki_ – a first for him, not to mention for any other _ki_ master – when Goku roused his ire. Piccolo had tensed to the point of breaking when his _ki_ overtook him, and its raw intensity had left him trembling. Goku had seen how flustered Piccolo was and cut the spar short.

Since then, both he and Gohan (and presumably Vegeta) had seen hints of that power in the Namek. He said nothing more about it to Piccolo, maintaining his watchful eye on his friend and noting that he seemed be well on his way to controlling his newfound strength.

But it still served to remind him of the demon Shadow, no matter how hard he tried to convince himself it truly was Piccolo that had stood before him…

Gohan grabbed his father's arm when the older Saiyan's hair began flickering, and Goku realized what was happening and dismissed his gathered _ki_ immediately.

"See?" the man chuckled quickly, unsuccessfully trying to hide his unease at the speed with which his body reacted to a presumed danger. "All you need to do is think about something like that, and make yourself _need_ to beat them. You _need_ to be stronger to protect the ones you love."

"Then what could I use, dad?" Gohan asked.

The older Saiyan gazed down into his son's pleading eyes and found himself sighing. _I might as well tell him,_ he thought. _He'd find out, anyway._ "Try to remember some time when your emotions were at their strongest. Say, Piccolo's death."

Gohan's jaw dropped.

Goku noticed this and narrowed his eyes. That reaction was certainly something he – _they_ – could exploit. "Focus, Gohan," he ordered. "Remember. Nappa's got you in his sights, and he's ready to fire that _ki_ blast at you. Remember!"

The boy's face blanched. Recalling that particular battle was no struggle for him. He was already there, had been caught up in his memories and the most frightening moment of his life the instant Goku had said the word 'death'. His mouth went dry, and he gulped. It felt so real…he could almost feel Nappa's _ki_ crackling in the distance! Dimly he heard his father encouraging him to do something, but he could not focus on his voice. Instead, his attention was on the green and violet blur before him, standing in the harsh, threatening light that made all else go dark.

Kami, NO!

Gohan felt the blistering heat of Nappa's _ki_ attack and heard Piccolo screaming, then felt the chill after the blast had faded away. That agonized scream would haunt him to his grave, as would the shame of knowing he had been the cause of that suffering.

Then he was back beside his father in the field. He had no recollection of falling to his hands and knees, nor did he think he'd been exercising hard at all. His muscles were telling him to cease and desist, that he had put in enough work for one day. They protested even the most minute of actions. But how could that be? he wondered.

He slowly raised his head.

His father met his questioning gaze solemnly. "That's good for your second try, Gohan," he said.

_What is he talking about?_ he thought, bewildered. _I didn't do any… _His thought trailed off as Goku's compliment sunk in. All he had felt, all he had done, had not been reenacted in memory alone. The _ki_ he had felt had been his own.

_Ascension._

Suddenly the world seemed to close in around him, and he began to gasp. His breath could not come quickly enough. That hadn't been Nappa at all, but himself! Such an overwhelming _ki_, his! Only in his wildest dreams had he imagined being as strong as his father and Piccolo, but he had known his desires could never be a reality. At least, not until now. Now, he was not so certain.

"Get a hold of yourself!" Goku commanded, and Gohan immediately stopped. "What happened, kiddo?"

Gohan found it hard to speak. He swallowed a few times to clear his throat. "I-I don't know, dad," he stammered. "I was there, with Piccolo and Nappa, and I heard Piccolo screaming and felt Nappa's _ki_, only it wasn't his _ki_, it was my own! And I was there!" He choked on his next words. "I don't think I can use that as my trigger, dad. Every time I think about it, I get so ashamed of myself!"

"Does it bother you that much?"

Gohan did not trust his voice to hold, so he nodded.

He was surprised to feel his father's arms around his shoulders. "It's all right, son," Goku said quietly. "I didn't know you felt that strongly about it. Do you still want to continue?"

Gohan pushed his father away and frowned at him. "You shouldn't have to ask, dad," he replied. "You know I have to get stronger, like you and Piccolo. There's just too much out there for me to sit around and do nothing, especially if something else happens!"

Goku gawked at the boy, incredulous and more than a little shocked. His son, the pacifist, actively seeking more training? Without pushing or prodding? He snapped his mouth closed and grunted. "All right, then," he said far more enthusiastically than he felt, "what else didn't come across well with you? You had a pretty strong reaction when Radditz was pounding the stuffing outta me, but you need something more than that."

"What's your trigger?"

"Krillin's death, at the hands of Frieza."

The mere thought of that horrifying moment sent warmth shooting through the older Saiyan, the sensation similar to stepping out of an air-conditioned car to a hot summer day, or leaping into one's hot bath water after playing in the snow. Goku's extremities began to tingle as _ki _began to thicken around them, and then they burned with the intensity of the energy gathering there. He let his head fall back as the _ki_ rushed up his body; he felt it spiral out above him and knew it would be visible.

"Dad," he heard Gohan whisper breathlessly.

Then Goku shifted his thoughts back to the present, and the gathered _ki_ dissipated harmlessly. Gohan was rendered speechless at his father's display of power and found himself wondering if it was even possible to harness that much raw _ki_ at his level of training.

They were interrupted by the expected dual _ki_ spike from Vegeta and Piccolo, signaling their impending spar. Without a word, Goku and Gohan exchanged glances and took to the sky, leaving dust and grass floating along in their wake.

* * *

Piccolo felt the two Saiyans' auras flare in response as they took to flight, which distracted him enough that his double was able to connect his fist with his jaw. Piccolo grunted and fell back, narrowly avoiding being sent crashing through the uppermost branches of the trees below them. He shot his arms out to either side, and his fall was halted. He floated in that position, horizontally sprawling and making the best of the air currents, using both those currents and his _ki_ to keep him aloft.

"I didn't think that counted as a warm-up, Namek," Vegeta remarked snidely.

The Namek shot him a glare, and when his double was once again in sight he nodded. The two moved quickly together and, when close enough, melded fluidly into each other. "That wasn't a warm-up, monkey," Piccolo said once his vision cleared. "That was practice."

Vegeta watched the other warrior through slitted eyes as he flew up to hover beside him. "If that was practice, then what would you call our spar with Kakarot and his brat?"

"A warm-up."

Vegeta did not need to glance over again to know that Piccolo was smirking. He had walked right into that one, and he did not wish to have it flaunted. Regardless, he could not resist a jab of his own. "It was certainly more than that a couple of weeks ago…or have you forgotten it already?"

Piccolo ignored him and reminded himself to wipe the sneer from Vegeta's face during, not _before_, their spar. That first spar, two weeks ago, had begun above his waterfall but had moved to the flatlands beyond it minutes into the session. He had overestimated his stamina badly that afternoon; he had spent the morning sparring with Goku, then faced the backlash of a broken spell, and topped it off by "warming up" with his double. He had thought a break would suffice to return the energy he had expended, and he had thought wrong. The hybrids' serum must have still been in his veins in some small quantity, he thought, if he had felt the effects of the day's workout that strongly. _And it would explain why the wounds from the mirror did not heal quickly,_ he added.

Much to his chagrin, Piccolo's strength had started to wane half an hour into that spar, and by the time Goku called it to an end he had been utterly spent…though Vegeta did receive more than a fair share of a beating from him before he could fight no longer, he thought with a wicked grin. The word 'idiot' came to mind whenever he found himself lacking an excuse for his embarrassing lapse.

That was the last time Piccolo had taken it upon himself to wear himself out before meeting up with the three Saiyans. He, at least, had learned from the mortifying experience. It was more than could be said for the diminutive Saiyan prince, who could be trounced within an inch of his life and still return for more. If sheer determination was the trigger for ascension, Vegeta would have been a Super Saiyan by now.

The two waited side by side until their other sparring partners came into sight before descending. It was not long before Goku and Gohan joined them on the ground, and the two newcomers had not even finished their greetings before Vegeta lunged at Goku with a snarl. The surprised Saiyan barely dodged his first fist, only to find himself in the path of the second. Goku was flung backward with little more than an exhaled grunt, splintering several trees along the way. Vegeta followed hot on his heels.

Gohan stared after the two with wide eyes. "Was Vegeta really that eager to start?" he asked Piccolo.

"What do you think, kid?" came the amused reply.

Gohan spared his mentor a glance and caught the Namek tensing his muscles. He shrugged. "I think you and Vegeta wanted to rip each other's throats out."

The younger warrior managed to draw a chuckle from Piccolo with that remark. "When do we not?" Piccolo asked. Then, changing the subject as abruptly as it had begun, he said: "I do not intend to go easy on you, Gohan, though I may not be your 'partner' for the entire time."

Gohan nodded and lowered himself into a defensive crouch. "I understand," he replied. Piccolo inclined his head in the boy's direction, favored him with a fanged smirk, and vanished. Gohan smiled back, sensing the other fighter off to the right, and vanished as well.

For the better part of that hour, the four warriors exchanged a flurry of blows. Goku would be thrown into the ground by Vegeta only to have Piccolo dive in and kick him from his crater. As Gohan would speed after his father with a _ki_ ball in hand, Piccolo would whirl around with a _ki_ ball of his own and fire it at Vegeta's head. The Saiyan prince would dodge it, only to discover – too late – Gohan's waiting fist. Piccolo would have scant time to observe the blow before Goku would propel himself out of nowhere, golden and fully ascended, toward the Namek's unguarded side. The intended body slam would be matched by a graceful spin and an elbow aimed for the attacking man's back.

And so the game continued, the players trading places often, with only their tell-tale auras and the golden glow of Goku's hair for identification. Gohan found the pace grueling, as it always was, but when coupled with his earlier attempt at ascension it was too much for him. He drifted away from the group and alighted upon the largest boulder in the rubble pile that had been a pillar of rock not ten minutes before. He caught himself chuckling before his attention returned to the trio overhead. "At this rate," he said aloud, "this place is going to be nothing but plains and rubble heaps!"

"_Masenko!_"

Within seconds of the attack's booming impact, Vegeta plummeted toward the earth, halting his headlong fall with his arms outstretched and a visible aura that lashed furiously around his body. His forearms smoked slightly; his scowl promised worse to the warrior who had knocked him from the sky. He snarled and launched himself back into the fray, only to have Piccolo's resisting form collide with his body, throwing them both into the ground thirty yards from Gohan. When the dust cleared from around their prone forms, Vegeta caught sight of Goku hovering victoriously above them. "Give up yet?" he heard the man call.

"To you?" he shouted back. "Never!" Vegeta heard Piccolo respond to Goku's taunt with something similar, and as one they leaped to their feet. To all appearances their feud was temporarily set aside in the face of a common rival, as Vegeta growled to Piccolo: "You take his front and distract him. I'll come in from the side."

Piccolo grunted from his stance several feet away, which Vegeta took to mean "yes". He spared a glance for Piccolo to be certain he was ready for the assault, and when the Namek tensed for flight he gathered his own _ki_ to him. The ground trembled beneath the force of their combined energy, and when Vegeta leaped into the air the space around him crackled. A startled exclamation burst forth from Gohan then, and he smirked. _Good,_ he thought. _Let Kakarot's brat see what a true Saiyan does against the odds!_

The Saiyan prince had closed half the distance between the ground and Goku before he realized Piccolo was not following him. Not noticing how intent Goku seemed upon staring at the earth, Vegeta angrily whirled around and snarled at Piccolo: "Idiot! Can't you do one…simple…" His tirade trailed off as he caught sight of what had captured the attention of the other two Saiyans.

Later, Vegeta silently admitted to himself that the vision was something out of a nightmare, and nothing anyone could have said or done would have made him change his mind. For he watched, horrified, as Piccolo struggled wildly in the clutches of two long, dark arms that seemed to have burst from the very earth to wrap themselves around his midsection. He had been yanked from his feet and pulled to the ground in the few seconds it had taken Vegeta to speed away; now it seemed he was battling to stay above the surface. Whatever restrained Piccolo was also dragging him down into the earth!

"Piccolo!" Gohan screamed and broke his paralysis, and he threw himself toward the Namek with enough force to demolish what was left of the rock pillar. Frieza himself would have been deterred had he seen the expression on the boy's face; nothing could have stopped the frantic child from coming to the Namek's aid.

With a cry more howl than shout, Piccolo's _ki_ exploded around him, and the very ground shuddered beneath its intensity. Shock waves rolled through the earth away from him, collapsing less stable sections of land and scorching it all. Rocks and plants alike were incinerated before the brilliant white energy. Gohan was repelled; he was forced to shield himself lest he burn in the powerful surge. Then the light faded away, and Piccolo was panting in the air beside him. He stared incredulously at the pit revealed in the earth, as intent upon the site as the three Saiyans had been mere seconds before.

Gohan barely refrained from attaching himself to Piccolo's leg. "Piccolo," he whispered, "are you all right? What _was_ that thing?"

Piccolo nodded and ignored similar questions from both Goku and Vegeta, who were approaching even as they warily eyed the hole. His attention was elsewhere; somewhere in that dark fissure, the creature still lived. He knew he had not used enough _ki_ to destroy whatever it was that had grabbed him, though to all appearances it had been vaporized. It was strong, almost too strong for such a simple repulsion. Piccolo could barely sense its presence, but he was not fooled.

In the shadows, something deliberately shifted.

Goku spared a glance for the Namek. "Piccolo, what…" he began to ask.

Piccolo cut him off with a gesture and instead motioned to the hole, eyes bright with some intense emotion. Goku followed the path of his hand with his eyes. His attention locked upon a form darker than the rest of the pit, and he felt his breath catch in his throat.

For something large was emerging from the darkness, something not of this world. Something that Daimao's heir recognized as kin.

A creature that had been sent by the Demon Lord himself, and the beginning of a series of events that, once in motion, could not be stopped by mortal or divine.

The brewing of the storm.

* * *

I figured I have kept you waiting long enough, and so you have a nice, long chapter to read. I won't say anything else because I'll give away upcoming events, except this: the guys are definitely not going to let this attack go!

Thanks for reading!

-Dreamwraith


	10. Chapter Ten

After over three years, I bring you… an update. Gasp! Shock! Awe! You can read the note at the end if you'd like to hear my excuses. You've been waiting long enough to read this that I won't torture you with them now.

Thank you for the "kick", Elieare.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own DBZ. I am only borrowing its characters for this story. The demons' Hell, the Seer, and miscellaneous demons are mine.

* * *

**Chapter Ten**

Fear.

The emotion was not foreign to Piccolo. He had felt it while he lay dying in the dirt after his first tournament, with his life dangling from Goku's hands. He had felt it when Frieza transformed, when he had stood up seemingly from the dead. He had felt it when the implications of the crystal ball's shattering had finally borne down upon him. And he had felt it when the demon, Shadow, took over his body.

He was feeling it now.

Somewhere below him, in the dark fissure in the ground, lurked an eldritch creature, one that was powerful enough to survive a _ki_ surge. Piccolo knew without seeing it that it must be a demon of some sort, or else it would not have been able to cross into the mortal world through the earth itself. And if it had not made the crossing itself, it had obtained assistance. The Namek was not certain which of the two possibilities concerned him more.

Still feeling its lean, spidery arms around him and repressing a shudder, he glanced over at Goku. The Saiyan had squeaked when he caught sight of the creature's silhouette, and he had not made a sound since. "You still with us, Goku?" he asked, lowering his voice so it would not carry to the thing below them.

The Saiyan gulped and nodded. "It's…" he began to speak, but his voice trailed off when the shadows in the fissure shifted. He tried again. "You recognize that thing, don't you? It's a demon of some sort, isn't it?"

Piccolo nodded. He opened his mouth as if to reply, but he shut it again as he realized there really were no words for this situation… except for the ones that Vegeta kept muttering. He could not tell Goku how he recognized the demon below them. The man would most likely think he was regressing into the monstrosity he had been turned into not that long ago.

Oh, yes. He did recognize that type of creature. He knew it by virtue of the blood in his veins.

* * *

Arachi.

They worked the forges in Hell. They crafted tools and bodies alike, moving bones like puppets on strings. They killed from the shadows. They had always worked closely with Daimao, volunteering their services and reaping benefits in return. Two of them had assembled the throne upon which the demon lord sat.

It grinned at the four warriors that hovered above its tunnel, its teeth hidden in the darkness. How foolish they were, still waiting there for it to emerge. Could they not recognize strategy when they saw it? The short adult, no, not now. It was too angry and too confused for that. The young one as well… it was also confused, and frightened. Frightened, yes. Good.

The Arachi began shifting its bulk into the opening, one limb at a time, slowly yet surely. It currently had the advantage. The warriors were all stunned by its apparent strength, as well they should be. The demon lord's brat was among them, of course. It had tracked him down very carefully. It started to grind its teeth in frustration as it thought back to its last attempt to catch the brat by his water…fall. That was the word for it. He had not noticed it there, and had he not moved he would have found himself in Daimao's grasp already. Ah. Well. It hoped it would be more successful in today's endeavor. Perhaps the demon lord would have the brat in his clutches by the mortal realm's dusk.

Unfortunately, it had not counted on the brat – Piccolo, his name was… did that not inform the brat enough of his parentage? – having company for this long, but it was not concerned. It was confident it could challenge them all and survive. After all, it was a magic-user, and that ability gave it an advantage that no _ki_-user could ever have.

It hissed softly from within its dark hole, and it smirked when it saw the brat twitch. It might as well get this over with. It had other things to do. Slowly, it extended an arm into the sunlight, that damning sunlight, feeling the eyes of the brat and his companions on it. The bright light, so much stronger than the glow that illuminated Hell, gave its skin an unhealthy mottled grey and blue hue.

"_This will be over shortly, young demon,_" it growled beneath its breath. "_Tell your friends to pray for their souls._"

* * *

"Dad? Dad? What is it doing?" Gohan asked, watching with wide eyes as the demon emerged slowly from the hole in the ground. "Is it hurt?"

"No, I don't think so," Goku replied, only half-observing the Arachi. The rest of his attention was on Piccolo. The Namek had turned a curious shade of green in the last few seconds, and he worried that he might be under attack from some unknown supernatural force. He wasn't too sure of that, though. After all, he was feeling somewhat spooked, himself. Maybe Piccolo was spooked as well?

Piccolo scowled in Goku's peripheral vision, and his lips twitched. No sound was heard. _Cursing,_ Goku thought. _He's just as jumpy as the rest of us._

Vegeta, on the other hand, had no problems voicing his disapproval of the situation. "Namek," he snarled, "if there is anything else about your little parent problem that you have not told us, now would be a good time to do it."

"Nothing comes to mind," Piccolo replied slowly, keeping his eyes on the demon.

"How about telling us what kind of thing that is down there?"

The green man glanced up quickly at him. "I don't know its name. Its kind is known for their labors in Hell."

"What kind of labors?"

Piccolo's brow furrowed in thought. "Crafting things, anything that needs to be done or maintained."

Vegeta sneered. "How very cute. Artisans. So tell us, Namek, why a craftsman was able to survive your burst? In my experience, things like that have nasty tricks up their sleeves."

Piccolo would have snarled a reply, but he remembered in time what Vegeta's occupation had been. It made sense that a man who committed genocide for a living would have had at least a little experience in anticipating – and planning for – surprise. It was not hard to forget that, beneath his stubborn attitude, Vegeta was a capable strategist. Not all of those decimated cultures could have been conquered by brute force alone… Finally, he admitted, "These aren't my memories I'm looking at. I don't have that knowledge, myself."

"So you have no idea what we are up against?"

Piccolo glanced first at Goku and then at Gohan. He did not miss their anxious expressions. He also did not want to tell them what the memories-that-were-not-his did reveal. He turned his attention back to Vegeta. "They… were also used as assassins."

For a moment, the only sound was that of the demon dragging itself out from its hole. Then the relative silence was broken by Vegeta's forceful exhalation. "That can be classified as useful knowledge, Namek," the Saiyan ground out. "Is anything else coming to mind, or should we beat the knowledge loose in your head?"

Goku intervened even as Gohan began to bristle defensively. "Hey, hey, calm down, you two," he said, waving his hands and drifting between the two men. "This isn't the time to get all angry with each other. There's a situation we need to deal with right beneath us, remember?"

"Oh, I remember, Kakarot," Vegeta growled, "but wouldn't you agree that knowing what we're up against might – just _might_ – be in our best interests right now?"

"Well, yeah, but – "

"And wouldn't you agree that the Namek is withholding valuable information from us?"

"But he can't – "

"Then _how_ are you missing the obvious solution to this problem?" By this point, Vegeta's face had turned pink and was on its way to red. He appeared to be seconds away from launching himself at either Goku or Piccolo, and he didn't seem to be particular about which one he would choose.

Gohan, whose attention had been split between Vegeta and the creature rather than focusing only on one of them, wisely chose this moment to interrupt the argument. "Because the obvious solution just crawled out of its hole!"

All commotion stopped as three grown men locked their eyes on the pale form of the misshapen creature. It was an unhealthy color, almost as if it had never been exposed to sunlight before. Its upturned head and its body were humanoid, and it might have been mistaken for human from a distance, but there all resemblance ended. Its large, fanged mouth was twice the size of its corresponding human feature. Its arms were spindly and long, its fingertips reaching down past where its knees might have been had it been human. Its body seemed… stretched, somehow. When it moved further into the bright sunlight, the men could see that there were multiple pairs of legs attached to its abdomen, like a spider.

A sense of horror descended on them, and they all suddenly realized that they were no match for this demon. It would kill them first, then their families and friends, then anyone who had ever laid eyes upon them, then burn the earth they walked upon. Perhaps, though, perhaps if they surrendered now, it would make their death quick and painless… They all felt a keen sense of loss. Gohan began to weep.

Vegeta was the first to recover from the spell, and later, Piccolo thought about thanking him for it. Had he not been there, the other three might have just remained transfixed by the creature. "What is the matter with you all?" the Saiyan shouted angrily. "You're all warriors! You've faced worse than this! You've faced down _Frieza_ and survived! Stop acting like small children and start_ moving!_"

As if by magic, Piccolo felt the dead weight on his mind slough off. The horror lifted. It took him a moment to regain his bearings, but when he did he found himself growing angry. Angry that he fell for such a trick. Angry that he was not able to free himself from it. A quick glance revealed that Goku was hugging Gohan to him and looked the way he himself felt. Good. "This must be how it – " Piccolo began to say how the creature must use trickery like this to fell its prey, but Vegeta interrupted him.

"I don't care how it does what it does. It is making fools out of us, and more importantly, it has made a fool out of me! Me! I am the Prince of all Saiyans, and I will not be toyed with!"

Piccolo exchanged a glance with Goku and Gohan, who was angrily wiping tears from his cheeks, when there was a sudden boom and a blinding flash of light. They were all hurled backward through the air. When the light faded, Vegeta was no longer before them. The Namek found himself next to the other Saiyans. But before he could fully understand what had happen, and before Gohan could finish his startled squawk, there was a second, equally impressive boom from below them, and a second flash of light. This time they were able to shield their eyes.

"What does he think he's doing?" Goku shouted over the howl of the wind.

"Something that we should be!" came Piccolo's enthusiastic reply.

Wait a minute… enthusiastic?

Goku watched a sly grin spread across Piccolo's face and thought, _Wow, I wonder if Piccolo has been looking forward to something like this._ He realized that thought surprised him, although it should not have. If there was one thing that Piccolo anticipated, it was a good fight, and this was certainly shaping up to be one. Especially since the _ki_ explosions beneath their feet showed no sign of stopping. The demon must have been tougher than it looked. Vegeta was no lightweight when it came to throwing punches.

Piccolo suddenly took off, leaving a bright streak of _ki_ behind him, and Goku could have sworn he heard a laugh. _That's funny, _he thought, _I didn't think Piccolo was enjoying himself that much._ It did not occur to him that Piccolo might have been seeking revenge for everything that had happened since Daimao had made his first move and that, in the absence of his sire, he would relish taking his anger out on the first unlucky demon that crossed his path.

"Come on, dad!"

Gohan was tugging on his arm, though, and that effectively put an end to Goku's contemplations.

* * *

Piccolo watched Goku's body fly past him into the air and grimly turned his attention back to the demon. It was laughing at them, if that was what its wet gurgle could be called. He had lost his mirth only seconds into the battle, when the demon planted one of its clawed feet into his face and shoved him away as if he was of no more concern than an infant.

Clawed feet. Now that Piccolo was closer to the demon, he was able to clearly see that it had six segmented, insectoid legs and a withered pair of human legs which dangled beneath its torso. The segmented legs ended in talons much like his own. Upon his closer inspection, the demon appeared to have been stitched together from several different creatures, even though he knew it was not. Its back was also branded with tattoos, symbols in a language that Piccolo did not recognize but which sent a buzzing through his skull nonetheless.

Gohan appeared before the demon with both hands clasped above his head, sparkling with _ki_. "_Maaa…sen…ko…HA!_" he shouted, and he loosed his gathered _ki_ at it. It raised its arms to either block or bat away the attack.

Piccolo saw the opening his student had granted him and landed in a crouch behind the demon. He gathered _ki_ in one balled fist and sprinted forward. _Let's see how you deal with this,_ he growled to himself.

Everything around him seemed to be moving in slow motion as Gohan's _ki_ hit the demon. It extended one hand and caught the golden orb and, with a flick of its wrist, sent it spiraling off into the distance. Piccolo leaped into the air and brought his fist down with inhuman speed toward the demon's throat…

…when his shoulders were seized by two sets of talons. They dug into his shoulders and drew blood. His cloak turned purple. The demon grinned at him. "Did you think I would not have expected such a thing from you, young one?" it asked, its voice dry and rasping. "You are Daimao's spawn. The sapling has not grown far from the tree."

Piccolo wrenched himself free of the demon's grasp and dropped to the ground with a grunt. His _ki_ vanished from his grasp.

"No, it has not," it continued, smiling down at him. "Perhaps we shall show him, you and I. He has been expecting you."

The world around them suddenly hushed. Piccolo was aware of the three Saiyans hovering above them, one glowing gold with power. He could feel his heart beating fiercely. His mind raced. _Is that what this is? Is this what Daimao has been planning?_

A voice in the back of his mind replied, _Yes._

"Now, young one," the demon continued, "if you will come with me, I will leave your pets in peace. I promise you will enjoy our destination."

"Never," Piccolo growled, jumping back.

It chuckled. "You assume that you have a choice in this matter. I assure you that you do not. But by refusing, you have given me leave to proceed in any manner I deem necessary."

Suddenly it was before him, and its face was before his, and their eyes were locked. "Pray, young one," it said with a smile, "to that _Kami_ of yours. I do so enjoy it when they plead first."

Insect appendages tipped with claws burst forth from the ground and wrapped themselves around the Namek, and he was yanked to the ground once more. Above him, Gohan cried out Piccolo's name in fear and bolted forward, and Goku and Vegeta both gathered more _ki_ to them. The demon looked up at them. "_Pray for your souls,_" it hissed. "_I am almost done here, and they will wander for eternity when I am through with you._"

* * *

Excuses, excuses, where will I start? I'll even try to make it brief: working on and finishing Bachelor's thesis in chemistry, moving halfway across the state, graduate classes, studying for and failing Qualifying Examinations for a PhD in chemistry, loss of my hard drive, getting my face ripped up by my cat, troubleshooting research for Master's thesis, playing Airsoft, and being introduced to several new tabletop RPGs. I also have forty-nine short stories based on one of those RPGs. I have been writing… unfortunately, it has not been in the DBZ genre.

I would like to thank you all for sticking with me through my three-year absence (you know who you are), and for those of you just joining me, thanks for reading! I expect that my writing style has changed a bit over the past few years, and I'm sure that I have forgotten things when I wrote this up, so please let me know what you think, for better or for worse. I deserve to be yelled at after the hiatus I made you sit through.

~Dreamwraith


	11. Chapter Eleven

Here's hoping that I never pull another three-year hiatus again… although one year is bad enough!

**Disclaimer:** I do not own DBZ or any of its characters. The demons' Hell, the Seer, and miscellaneous demons are mine. I am making no profit from this.

* * *

**Chapter Eleven**

Piccolo found himself growing angry again. This was the second time the demon had dragged him to the ground, and it was the second time that Gohan was charging to the rescue. He was the most powerful Namek alive, damn it! He did not need to be rescued!

Gohan landed a solid blow to the back of the demon's head, and it roared and swung a fist at the boy. He darted out of the way and kicked at one of its free legs. A sharp crunch sounded. The demon hissed. The sound could barely be heard over the strong wind that was picking up, generated by the sheer amount of _ki_ being pulled into the area.

Or was the wind, perhaps, being caused by a gathering storm? Thunder rumbled in the distance, and in that same distance the sky was darkening. The presence of a powerful enough demon could cause one. Piccolo knew this firsthand.

It was then that he began to feel a chill creeping along his spine, which quickly spread to his limbs. The sensation was subtle at first, and he mistook it for his _ki_ gathering in a new, unfamiliar way. But after it went on for more than a few seconds, he realized it was something worse. It was not his _ki_ gathering. It was something within him _depleting_.

He knew something of demons – after all, he was one, in essence, and he had seen and felt them at work before. He knew what one of his "brothers" had once done to Krillin. He could guess at what was happening now. He might even be right. But when it came right down to it, he would rather not wait to find out.

Piccolo weighed his options quickly. Part of the demon's body was sinking beneath the earth, its insectile legs holding him hostage and taking him with it. Goku and Vegeta were gathering _ki_ to them far above him, one of them ascended, and they might not be able to get to him in time (or even try to, in Vegeta's case). Gohan was rebounding from his kick. What could he do against something that used magic? He could let the spell run its course – not an option he liked. He could try to burn the demon away with any _ki_ he could gather to him – which might take too long. He could try to break away. He could tear at its legs. He could…

…_give in and wield what is rightfully his_…

…what the hell? Amidst the wind and the roaring of the Saiyans' _ki_, Piccolo frowned and forgot about the demon that held him fast. That wasn't his thought. Was it?

He was jerked out of his momentary lapse by a sudden feeling of weightlessness. The chill had spread through his body now, and he could no longer feel anything below his knees or past his elbows. _Face it, you fool, you're dying,_ he snarled to himself, _and if you do you will spend the rest of eternity wandering the spaces between worlds. Do something now, _anything_, and worry about the consequences later!_

Dimly, he remembered what happened the last time he did something in a life-or-death situation without thought for the consequences; he had jumped between Goku and a _ki_ beam that would have killed the man. Had he not done so, the only man alive who had a chance at defeating Frieza would have died. As it was, he himself had been only a hair's-breadth away from dying, before Dende had found him and healed him. The Namekian child was not here now. If he did something foolish again, there would be no swift recovery. There would only be death.

But death was creeping up on him now. His limbs were numb, and he thought he could see his breath frosting in the air. He was beginning to feel comfortable, strangely so, even as he was dragged roughly into the earth.

_Move, idiot! Now!_

* * *

Yamcha was cleaning off his dining room table and watching the baseball playoffs on television when his phone rang. He reached for the remote control and its handy "mute" button and grunted a 'hello' into the receiver at the same time.

"Are you feeling this?" Krillin squawked into the phone.

Yamcha jerked his head away from the receiver. "Yeah. These playoffs are making me angry, too," he replied distractedly. "Number 48 should have – "

"No, Yamcha!" Krillin interrupted. "Use your _ki_! There's some wild stuff going on out there around Goku!"

Yamcha frowned and turned the television off, cursing. "You know, you had better not be mistaking another one of their sparring sessions for something serious," he sternly told his friend. "I don't want to have to pummel you into the ground again for making me miss a game." He fell silent as he focused his mind on the _ki_ around him. Then he allowed his senses to roam farther out. As they spiraled out about him, he felt Krillin and Master Roshi, then Chi-Chi, then Tien and Chiaotzu. Finally, he located Goku, and the startled exclamation he gave nearly blistered Krillin's ears.

"See what I mean?" Krillin said anxiously. "There's some freaky stuff out there, and it's really bothering me."

"Well, what do you propose we do?" Yamcha yelped. "If that's Piccolo gone psycho again, neither of us are strong enough to deal it. We'd just get in the way!"

"But we have to try, don't we? You know, as a backup?"

Yamcha rubbed his temples with his free hand and sighed. "I won't lie to you, Krillin. Really. If Goku and the others can't handle it, neither can we. I'm not even sure what it is." Then he stopped himself and stared at the television. He was not watching the game, though. He found himself chasing after some phantom memory in his mind, something that screamed _Think about me!_ at him.

"Yamcha?"

Krillin's voice barely registered for him. He was remembering something, something that had happened months ago.

"_That isn't Piccolo any more. He's someone else, now!"_

"_What are you talking about?" Krillin asked Goku. "He's not himself, I know, but he can't be someone else!"_

"_I don't think he's lying, Krillin," Yamcha said quietly. "Whatever it was that we felt out here is coming from Piccolo. It's him, somehow."_

"_Clever boy," 'Piccolo' growled._

They had known it wasn't Piccolo, then. He had seen it himself in the forest beyond Goku's house, when the creature that had taken control of the Namek.

"Oh, Kami," Yamcha breathed. "It's another demon."

Krillin felt his face go pale when he heard Yamcha speak. Once the man had said it, he knew it was true. Whatever it was out there with Goku and the others right now had the same feel to it as the creature they had battled in the yard and on the Lookout. A demon. Damn it. _Damn it._ He would rather have welcomed a squadron of bloodthirsty Saiyan warriors with open arms before dealing with another supernatural monster.

"Yamcha, we need to go," he heard himself saying, his voice dull. "They needed us last time. They might need us again this time."

"Yeah, we should. Do you think I should bring another water bottle?" Yamcha's voice rose quickly to a near hysterical pitch, and he giggled.

"Sure," Krillin replied nervously, "and I'll bring the drink mix, so we can have something nice and sugary to sip on while they're getting their asses kicked."

"I'll bring the straws."

"I'll bring cups."

And they both slammed the phones down in their cradles. What a great time for Yamcha to freak out. Krillin could only imagine what he was doing right now. Hopefully, he was readying himself for battle. Unfortunately, he could also see him pacing around the house and giggling like a madman. Kami knew he felt like doing it. But Goku was out there, possibly fighting for his life, and Gohan was with him. Gohan, his buddy, his sparring partner. He couldn't leave Gohan behind, even if the boy was stronger than him.

Krillin was out of the house in record time, moving fast enough that Master Roshi only had enough time to inhale before his magazines were scattered all over the porch by the speed of his passing.

"My girls!"

His agonized wail followed Krillin into the sky.

* * *

Piccolo felt his eyes closing of their own accord. All around him, the earth was crumbling, and dirt rained down on his face. _No!_ he thought viciously. _I will not be buried alive, or taken to Hell as some kind of prize. I will not!_

The demon above him chuckled, and he felt a sudden pressure begin building against his skin. "Good, young one," it crooned to him. "Lay still. Sleep. I will take you where you belong. Pay no attention to your pets. They will not miss you."

_Give in and wield what is rightfully his_…

Again, that thought! Only now, he could feel a well of power just beneath his consciousness, seething with impatience. It was vast and ancient, and it was surprisingly deep. It did not belong to him.

_It does._

It _could not_ belong to him.

_It is yours. Take it. It will save you._

_No!_ he snarled.

_Please, take it. Please._

_Please?_ His eyes opened in surprise, and the sudden presence of dirt blinded him. He blinked furiously, but he could not clear his vision. Kami, he was so cold, and the cold had never really bothered him before. What in Hell would have begged him to take something that was obviously a trap? Not Daimao – he would never beg. Not Kami. Nail, perhaps? He had never heard Nail speak to him before…

_Please…_

Piccolo shoved his own distracting thoughts aside. He was nearly underground. He could feel the strength of the Saiyans' _ki_, somewhere above him, but none of it was moving. Only he (and the Arachi) was. He thought quickly and realized he would have to take a gamble on his strength.

With effort, Piccolo raised one of his arms and pointed his palm at the demon above him. He smirked, and then he roared. A strong burst of _ki_ exploded from his hand, straight into the belly of the Arachi. He heard it yelp. Dirt flew everywhere from the force of the blast, and a rush of heat dispelled the chill in his limbs. The lethargy that had overtaken him dissipated as well. _Good, _he thought. He rolled onto his stomach and brought his legs up underneath him. He would leap into the air as soon as he was certain the demon was no longer within reach.

But there was a soft buzzing in his skull that warned him against doing anything further.

The dust cleared after a few seconds, and Piccolo felt his jaw drop open despite himself. A large, dark shadow obscured the one cast by his own body. Then he heard laughter, and the pressure he had felt earlier began to build up around him again.

_Nothing is this powerful!_ he thought in disbelief. But then he remembered Frieza's terrible strength and knew he was lying to himself.

And how could he have forgotten that the demon wielded magic? No doubt it had been shielding itself against just such an attack… and now his immediate reservoir of _ki_ was depleted. He would be nearly defenseless against its next move.

"Foolish, foolish young one," it hissed. "Without the sense to lie down and give in."

Piccolo felt something beating frantically at the inside of his skull, and he knew without a doubt that whoever – or whatever – had been trying to give him advice was trying to tell him to act. He twisted underneath the Arachi and tried to roll out from under it, but its legs were everywhere. Every dodge, every move that he made was countered, and with every motion the buzzing grew louder. He ducked under one thrashing leg and barely managed to throw himself to the side when another slammed into the ground where he had just crouched with enough force to penetrate deeply into it. Above him, he heard Gohan yelling something, and he felt _ki_ burst against the demon's back. It slid harmlessly off the Arachi.

Piccolo felt sick. Nothing they were doing to it seemed to matter. The creature appeared to be impervious to their _ki,_ and without it, they were essentially normal martial artists. Their only strength was physical.

_Take it! Take it!_ the voice shrieked – or was it his own subconscious providing these traitorous thoughts? Another taloned leg crashed down beside him, and it caught on his cloak. The fabric ripped. He squirmed out from inside it just as one of the creature's hands pierced it. Its talons tore it to shreds.

He would not be able to dodge it for much longer, at this rate. It kept coming closer to hitting him. He would have to –

Suddenly, claws pierced his back and slammed him into the ground. "Trapped, young one," the Arachi growled in his ear. He cried out as the talons dug deeper into his back and grated against bone. "Face your fate."

Gohan and Goku screamed his name, but Piccolo barely heard them over the demon's hiss and the roaring of blood in his own ears. He felt the surface of the strange power ripple inside him. It beckoned to him, whispered seductively in his ear. Time seemed to slow for him. His muscles were frozen. The creature's hand lifted high in the air. Something glistened on its fingers. It grinned and thrust its hand down. The Namek did not have to see it to know what was coming.

And Piccolo did surrender, but not to the Arachi.

* * *

Goku hurled another ball of _ki_ at the demon crouched over Piccolo. The energy did not even faze it. With a cry, he threw two more _ki_ balls. They were deflected harmlessly away. "It's got some kind of shield!" he yelled to Vegeta.

"I can see that, Kakarot!" Vegeta growled in reply, holding his _ki_ ready in his hands.

"Don't waste your energy!"

"Don't tell me what to do!" The older Saiyan shot Goku a glare, and to his surprise, Goku found himself returning it. In turn, Vegeta's frown grew deeper, and he bore his teeth in a snarl.

Gohan interrupted them with a worried shout. "Piccolo's not moving any more, dad! We have to help him, now!"

Goku looked down in time to see the demon's hand thrust downward, aimed for the Namek's head. He gave a horrified shout and, with an astonishing burst of _ki_, flew toward the ground. Gohan followed closely behind him. They had to do something, but they would be too late.

They managed to come within thirty feet of the demon and Piccolo before their vision suddenly colored a brilliant white-red. They cried out – as did Vegeta above them – and shielded their eyes. Goku became aware of a surge of _ki_ and knew the demon had done something to Piccolo, and he cursed himself for his helplessness – ascended or no, he dared not charge in blind.

Then he cursed himself for his stupidity, and he sent his senses spiraling out to discover what was happening below him. He felt one large _ki_ and one _presence_ – he hesitated to call it _ki_, because it was so different from everything he had felt before – and the presence was fading. As it faded, so did the light, and he was able to see and hear again. He uncovered his eyes and saw movement on the ground. He blinked. His vision cleared.

And his jaw dropped.

The demon was writhing in a large crater on the ground, with a faint gurgle coming from its mouth. Half of its legs and part of its abdomen were missing, as was one of its arms. Its remaining limbs were twisted away from its body at odd angles. It spat yellow blood onto the ground, or at least tried to. Most of it dribbled from its lips, sliding down its broken jaw to the ground. Piccolo was crouched near it.

Goku shook his head, as if to be certain he was indeed seeing what was before his eyes, and forced himself to land, before he dropped from the sky out of astonishment. He heard Gohan touch down behind him. Then he walked forward, toward the fallen creature and the Namek.

"Treachery! Treacherous little brat!" the Arachi hissed to Piccolo as it felt the Saiyan's approach. "You knew! You were, all along! Know that Daimao will come for you now."

"Shut up," Piccolo told it. "Leave, and make sure you tell your master what happened before he kills you."

The Arachi hissed again and vanished.

Piccolo stared at the bloody ground until he felt a hand on his shoulder. _Goku_, his mind told him, even as he whipped around and faced the man. "Goku," he said aloud. Goku. Pure and simple. Simple. _Don't think about what you just did,_ he told himself. _Do not concern yourself with what he thinks. You are still yourself. You are Piccolo._

At first, Goku's gaze was fixed on the Namek's face. It was rigid with some emotion he could not immediately place. Anxiety? That could not be. What could possibly make Piccolo anxious, now that the demon was… gone…

He felt his brain grind to a halt as he met Piccolo's piercing gaze. No. _No._ Not this again.

The whites of Piccolo's eyes were fine, but the irises…

His eyes were red again.

* * *

Before I get comments on it, no, I'm not doing the possessed thing again. That's old history. Have any of you seen the Dragonball manga covers? The ones with Piccolo? Check them out.

As per my profile, I am on anxiety meds to try to get rid of the random, non-medically caused dizziness I've been having for the past three years (the doctor thinks it's stress-related). It's a pain getting used to, but I think it is working. I have also been very busy writing my Master's Thesis (and am very close to being done) and planning my wedding (also close). Hopefully soon I'll be able to stop making excuses and make with the writing instead.

Do let me know if I'm being inconsistent with something or if I'm messing up somewhere. I haven't watched DBZ in about five years now (for shame!), so I would not be surprised if I am making some characters OOC or forgetting some very major character attributes. Input is welcome. Just leave a review or drop me a line.

'Til next chapter,

~Dreamwraith


	12. Chapter Twelve

Sorry for giving you what was essentially a filler chapter, but I had a few things to put into play that would not have fit well anywhere else. I also needed to get back into the story. Practice and all that, you know.

My lateness sob story is justified, I promise. I'll summarize it in my profile. Then those who are thinking about stabbing me for updates will understand why I'm slow. (You know who you are!)

**Disclaimer:** I do not own DBZ or any of its characters. The demons' Hell, the Seer, the Arachi, and other miscellaneous demons are mine. I am making no profit from this.

* * *

**Chapter Twelve**

"Face your fate."

The Arachi thrust its hand down, and in that moment Piccolo finally gave in to the nagging voice inside his head. In hindsight, that was not a wise action, but what choice did he have? He probably would have died otherwise. He opened his mind to the foreign entity, only to realize it was not foreign at all.

It was, in fact, very familiar.

Years ago, Ma Junior had been a feared demon. Children screamed at the sound of his name. Women fainted. Brave men trembled. He left a swath of destruction across the land, scarring its people and the very face of the earth. He looked forward to ruling the world one day.

But something had changed within the demon, over time. He himself was not aware of when it happened, although he had his suspicions. It might have begun while he was training Gohan and culminated with his death over the boy. It may have been watching Goku's own death, as he sacrificed himself to kill his brother. Whenever it had been, he had not immediately noticed the changes in his soul. He should have suspected them when he learned that Raditz had gone to Hell at his death, rather than wandering the Earth. He had been foolish.

As he changed, the evil inside him ebbed. He subconsciously rejected that side of himself more with every passing day. When faced with Gohan's imminent death, he finally threw it completely aside. He may have growled at everyone who came too close to him and warned them of demonic nature, but he had known the truth. The heritage was present, but the rage was not. The demonic self that drove him so hard was gone.

Or so he had once thought.

With all the recent events that had occurred, from Uranai Baba's crystal ball to Shadow, to the incident at Capsule Corp and the appearance of the Arachi, it had been made very clear to Piccolo that the part of himself he had thought was gone was only dormant. He cursed it. He raged against it. For Gohan's sake, he may have even hated it. But he came to realize that it was still very much a part of him, and no matter what he did, he could not rid himself of it. It was a part of his subconscious that had remained quiescent these past few years.

The 'foreign' voice that had spoken to him was, essentially, himself.

Time had slowed to a crawl as the Arachi's hand descended. Conversely, the well of power within him began to churn. In hindsight, he would be able to call it self-preservation. Knowing that he had no other choice if he wanted to survive this encounter, Piccolo took the chance and dove within himself, to the mental training ground that was the manifestation of his center. He did not know what he would find there. He hoped it would be the answers to his unspoken questions.

He appeared in the middle of a field, one that seemed to stretch on forever. Around it were trees, a forest. It was very similar to the area he had grown up in. He should have felt relieved. Instead, he was wary.

In the center of the field stood another figure, one that was both alien and familiar all at once. Scowling, he approached it. It did not move, nor did it give any indication that it felt his approach. But the moment he came within arm's reach of it, it turned around and smirked at him. He knew that expression, intimately. It was his own.

Piccolo found himself staring at a younger version of himself, slender and lean of muscle. A younger self with eyes of blood.

"I was wondering how long it would take you to realize what was going on," the demon-self said. "How long it would take you to remember what you are. How long it would take you to find me."

"I know what I am," Piccolo snapped, "and I know who I am. What I want to know is how this all happened in the first place. I went through a lot of effort to suppress you."

The demon-self scowled. "And it took me a lot of effort to get through to you. You locked away Daimao's evil, which unfortunately closed me off from you. You sealed away that which could have made you whole."

Piccolo said nothing, merely folded his arms across his chest and waited for his darker side to continue.

"For all your intelligence, you never learned what your birthright truly meant. You could deny me until the end of time, but I am still you. In this, you are a fool."

Piccolo bristled. The demon-self laughed. "At least you have the sense to know when you require assistance. I can tell you the truth, now that you are willing to listen."

Suddenly, Piccolo found himself looking at an egg. It was mottled white-and-grey, and it was twitching. It was nestled in thick grass, most of which was broken, as though the egg had been dropped into place. "This was how our life began," his own voice stated. "Inside an egg, left to fend for ourself. Our sire wanted us to follow in his footsteps. What he did not realize was that when he created us, he passed along _everything_ that he had been."

His voice went silent while Piccolo pondered the ramifications of what had been said. Then his eyes widened in surprise.

Piccolo Daimao, the Demon Lord, had once been half of an entity that was sent to Earth many years before. When that entity purged itself of evil, that part of its personality manifested as Daimao. The entity had been a Namek. Therefore, Daimao was a demon, an evil spirit, in a Namek's body.

When Daimao formed his very last egg, he wanted a child that would be an exact replica of himself – something that he did not realize was impossible. He was only half a being. However, he carried the genes of a whole entity. When he reproduced, the resulting child was not a copy of a half but a reproduction of a whole. Piccolo was a fully Namekian child.

Yet Daimao's twisted nature could not be discounted. His insidious evil corrupted anything it touched. This was easily seen in his other children. Piano, Cymbal, Tambourine, and Drum – these four had not been created with care. Each of them visibly reflected Daimao's evil, possessing the form of a demon. With Piccolo, this warping was more subtle. Because of the care Daimao had taken in forming him, Piccolo's physical form was not altered. Instead, he carried the demon seed within him, a corruption that could manifest… a potential far beyond what his sire had predicted. The child that had been created was one-of-a-kind, a Namek who carried the blood of a demon and a god.

The demon-self chuckled. "You understand now," he stated.

Piccolo nodded once, mutely.

"We are capable of more than any other Namek ever born. We are capable of more than any demon, any angel, any _god_. We have the potential."

"Then why did I not realize this before?"

Piccolo knew what the answer to his snarled question was even as his demon-self laughed. "Because by denying me, you denied the possibility. You were so bent on rejecting our sire's legacy that you ignored his gifts."

"We are Namekian."

"We are _more._"

Piccolo scowled. "_We_ nothing. If this potential you're talking about is really there, why didn't it come out sooner?"

"Our birthright needed to mature, as did we. Now we are ready for it. We – _you_ – are strong enough now to separate Daimao's taint within us from the power he bequeathed you. So we have a choice: we can pursue Daimao's task, at which we will not fail now that you are aware of your full self, or we can pursue our own path." The demon-self paused for a moment to let his point sink in, then he smirked.

Piccolo found himself returning the smirk when he realized what his demon-self had implied. "I _have_ been looking for a suitable challenge," he said, grinning fiercely.

The demon-self smiled. "And he certainly has been issuing one. But for now, you need to pay attention to what is happening outside."

Without warning, he launched himself at Piccolo, who was so caught off-guard that he did not even react. His fingers dug deeply into Piccolo's forehead, and he gasped at the pain. "Something to remember me by," the demon-self hissed. "And do remember it, because you won't find me again." Then he shimmered and vanished, leaving only bloodied fingerprints on Piccolo's forehead.

For a moment, Piccolo thought to return his attention to the outside world and let time catch up with him again. Then his vision grew bright, and he was assailed by the strength of a sudden burst of power. He felt his insides burning, though such a thing was not physically possible in his mind. It was almost indescribable. The closest he could come was the intensity of the sensation he had felt when fusing with Nail.

But then he was suddenly aware of the talons deep in his back, the dirt his face was pressed into, the hissing of the demon above him, and he had no more time for reflection. He had to act.

And so he did.

Piccolo ignored the grinding of talon against bone and reached his arm back, grabbing the leg that held him down. He reached for the power that had felt so strange just a few seconds ago and, upon touching it, found that it was as familiar to him as the backs of his hands. He beckoned to it, and it responded. _Ki_ flowed into his fingers as effortlessly as breathing.

He did not take time to exult in his new-found strength. Instead, he concentrated on sending every ounce of his power into burning away the demon at his back. The Arachi's leg began to glow a sickly-yellow color as Piccolo's _ki_ rushed up its length. It hissed again, this time in surprise. "What do you think – "

It never finished its sentence. Piccolo's _ki_ erupted in a brilliant white-red flare, and the Arachi shrieked. The weight against Piccolo's back was suddenly gone, and he flipped off the ground onto his hands and knees. When he pushed himself up into a crouch, he felt the fabric of his cloak tear away from the gouges in his back. He winced. Even with his innate regenerative abilities, the wounds would take some time to heal. He would probably have to bind them.

The intense light began to fade, and he realized that he was crouching in a rather large crater. Something was gurgling closely off to his side, and when he turned, he saw its cause: the Arachi, who he knew would be a threat no longer.

The writhing demon was laying on its back in a sticky muck made of its own yellow blood. One of its withered human legs was gone, burned away, as was the chunk of abdomen it had been attached to. The other leg, its left leg, was missing below the knee. Its right arm was gone. The three insectoid legs on the right side of its body were sheared away. At a glance, Piccolo found one of them twitching on the ground several yards behind it. The other two were not visible. Its remaining limbs were twisted around at odd angles, which he supposed could account for its thrashing.

"You!" it spat, spraying blood across its own face. "How could you gather that much strength?" The words came out thick and slurred – its jaw was broken.

Piccolo felt his lips twitch into a smirk as he stood. "Because I've been a fool. I am one no longer."

"But the magic…"

"You should have known better than to do battle with the son of the Demon Lord, Arachi."

Piccolo felt the demon's shock at the same time he sensed Goku and Gohan landing somewhere nearby. "Treachery!" it hissed. "Treacherous little brat! You knew! You were, all along! Know that Daimao will come for you now."

But Piccolo had bigger things to worry about at the moment – like how the approaching Saiyans would react when they learned the truth about him.

* * *

His fears were not unfounded. The moment Goku met his gaze, he knew what the man was thinking. Goku had never been good at hiding his thoughts. The Saiyan was shocked first, then alarmed, which then gave way to a steely determination that Piccolo recognized all too well. The man was gearing up for another battle… this time, against him.

But Goku was holding back. Was it because he had said Goku's name? Was the Saiyan completely disregarding what he had told him about not going easy on an opponent? Was he just frozen in fear?

Then something heavy barreled into his chest, and the air left his lungs in a forceful _huff_. The unexpected weight knocked him back several feet. Something in the back of his mind told him this new 'attacker' was not dangerous.

"_Piccolo!_"

The Namek dropped his gaze to the young boy clinging to his torso. Gohan buried his face in the remains of his cloak and laughed. "You're all right! You're all right! Piccolo, we won!"

Goku stiffened, and rather than thrusting Gohan away, Piccolo raised a hand to the child's head and awkwardly patted it. "Yeah, kid. We won this time."

Gohan's smile grew wider, and Goku's jaw dropped. With some satisfaction, Piccolo noted that the Saiyan had relaxed – if only the tiniest bit. It was enough that he began to think he might make it out of this situation with all of his limbs more or less intact.

Goku, in turn, stared hard at the Namek. In his experience, red eyes meant demonic influence. However, he had to admit to himself that something about this was different. For one, Piccolo's eyes weren't wholly red, just the irises. This brought to mind another encounter with the Namek, their first meeting.

"_You are in my way. Move."_

_Goku glared at the man who approached the doorway he stood in. Ma Junior, or Piccolo, as he knew him to be, had just defeated Shen – Kami in disguise. Kami's Mafuba had failed… Piccolo had reversed it and trapped the god in his own prison. With Yamcha, Tien, and Krillin at his back, he did not fear the demon._

"_What did you do? Hand that jug over to me!" he demanded of the other._

_Piccolo returned his glare. Then he smirked. "A delightful jest!" he sneered._

As the two had tried to stare each other down, Goku remembered how the other's eye color had fascinated him. He had never seen anyone outside of Piccolo Daimao and his spawn with red eyes. At that time, he had equated the color with demons. Now, he was not so certain.

_Come to think of it,_ Goku thought, frowning, _he looks a lot like he did back then. Well, except older now, obviously. But what kind of demon holds a child like that?_ The obvious answer was 'a devious one', but Goku had never met anyone who could act that well. Not even Shadow had been able to fool him for long. Could this really be Piccolo still?

Gohan answered his question for him. "Piccolo?" he asked, looking up. Then, "What happened to your eyes?" The gleeful expression on his face turned serious. Whatever question he had been about to ask his mentor was lost.

Piccolo set him down and crossed his arms over his chest. _I was afraid of that,_ he sighed to himself. He had hoped his transition – augmentation – would have no physical manifestation. Obviously, he was wrong. Now, he would have to tell them what had happened, if he did not want to find himself on the wrong end of a _kamehameha._

"I am what I should have been," he told the child. "Before the hybrids, before Frieza, before the Saiyans' arrival, and even before your birth."

"I don't understand, Piccolo."

"I have embraced what I am. Not a pawn to Daimao, not a simple Namek. I am myself."

Gohan smiled, and Piccolo found himself smiling back. He was not certain that Gohan had understood what he meant, but he hoped the child appreciated the rare occurrence.

Goku was reluctant to interrupt what appeared to be a special occasion, but he could feel Vegeta's approach, and he knew the man would not be as inclined as he to allow an explanation from Piccolo before blowing him up. "Piccolo," he said quickly, "what are you talking about?"

Piccolo glanced up at him, and he found himself stunned by the change in his eyes. They could have been Frieza's eyes… but no. Frieza's eyes were cold and emotionless. Piccolo's still reflected his intelligence and spark of life. His were not the eyes of evil.

"Do you remember what I once was, Son Goku?" Piccolo asked.

"Of course I do," the Saiyan replied. "You were an unholy terror." He laughed nervously.

"Be serious, Son," Piccolo snarled.

Goku fell silent.

"Do you _remember_?"

"Yes, I do."

"You remember the darkness."

"Yes."

"Then perhaps you will be content with the knowledge that it is now contained and has no chance of breaking free."

Goku stared at him in utter confusion. For as long as Piccolo had been one of the 'good guys', he had snarled about being a demon and how it was not a good idea to come anywhere near him. As far as Goku could tell, he had also struggled against that darker side since before he had taken Gohan away for training – really, what kind of demon sacrificed himself for a small child? He may have been evil at the time of the last Tenka'ichi Budokai, when he was fully under Daimao's sway, but that had changed since then. Goku thought he had managed to somehow get over his sire's influence.

_But… contained? Wait…_ He thought back to his first encounter with Shadow, a demon sent from Hell to force Piccolo into doing Daimao's bidding.

_"Come now, Goku. Surely you did not think the chance for such power would be overlooked, did you?" Shadow had sneered at him as it stalked forward in Piccolo's body._

_"Whoever you are," Goku had growled, "you made the wrong choice of victim. I'm the stronger one. I'm the Super Saiyan. You should have gone for me."_

_Shadow had laughed. "That is where you are wrong, Goku. This one, Piccolo, has as much potential as you do. He is of two people; yet each time you have fought against him, you have only fought against half of what he is. Think of what he could have been combined."_

_Goku had given it thought. Piccolo had been almost impossible to defeat at the last Tenka'ichi Budokai, and he had been strong enough to hold back Frieza for a time on Namek. Once as demon, once as Namek._

_"Ah, so you see what I am saying."_

_Only half? "How long did it take you to talk him into it?" he had asked. "The Piccolo I know wouldn't have agreed to this."_

_"He never agreed."_

The gears in his head were turning rapidly now. Could Piccolo be talking about the power Shadow had hinted at? Had the Namek encountered another demon without his knowledge, bargained with it for power? He did not even want to consider that option, but it made so much sense… "I thought you were past that, Piccolo," Goku said lowly, dangerously. Vegeta was very close now, seconds away.

"I am not talking about Daimao. I am –"

"About to explain why in Hell you kept this information to yourself, Namek!"

Vegeta landed between the two warriors, scowling. "This creature could have destroyed us all, and you knew about its existence! What other secrets are you keeping?" he demanded.

Piccolo abruptly set Gohan down, though the boy still gazed up at him in wonder. He knew how the Saiyan prince saw him – tattered, bloody, and weary. He also knew Vegeta thought that, despite his injuries, he was dangerous. "I am not keeping the kind of secrets you think I am," he spat back. "It should not have been able to make it to this plane unassisted."

"Then it had help!" Vegeta growled. "Tell me what kind of demon – and yes, I figured that out – has the power to send assassins through to this world without alerting any of us to it!"

Piccolo opened his mouth to reply, but Goku answered the question for him. "Kami told me that Daimao has allies who can influence the living realm. This might have happened because of one of them."

Vegeta whirled on him, and he met the Prince's glare with a steady gaze of his own. "You're in league with him, Kakarot?" he exclaimed incredulously. "Is this some kind of joke?"

"No joke, Vegeta," he replied. "It's not exactly something that gets brought up in everyday conversation."

Vegeta's face reddened immediately, and for a moment, he looked like he was going to explode. Suddenly, uncharacteristically, he launched himself into the sky with enough _ki_ to form a crater behind him. He was out of sight before displaced clods of dirt and grass began to rain down upon the three remaining warriors.

It was at about the same time that Krillin and Yamcha reached what was left of the battlefield.

In the distance, the storm began to dissipate.

* * *

Thank you, all, for reading! Reviews are appreciated but not necessary – seeing the number of hits for each new chapter is gratifying enough.

Chikyuu: I was just as surprised to hear from you, too. You've been reading my stuff since what, early "From the Past"? Six or seven years ago? Wow. I also very much forgot it was Piccolo's birthday (shame on me), so it was a coincidental update. Now I'm embarrassed. (_grin_)

Volcanic: Nice to hear from you, too (in several stories)! I don't intend on disappearing again anytime soon, or at least not for long anymore. Hopefully I can keep up with the updates now that my schooling is done!

Anyone else who's been hanging around for a long time (and is willing to admit it!) is welcome to let me know. You'll get a shout-out at the end of next chapter. 'Til then!

~Dreamwraith


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